


May Fire Come Down From Heaven

by violent_ends



Series: A Song of Ash and Fire [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Chloe Decker, Dragon Riders, Dragons, F/M, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Whump, Magic, Minor Character Death, POV Multiple, References to Canon, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 118,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: In a world where humans, angels, demons and dragons coexist on the earthly plane as peacefully as they can (but not nearly enough), bounty hunter Chloe Decker finds herself in need of a deal.The day she meets the Dragon Prince, Lucifer of House Morningstar, she intends to give him a piece of her mind. She doesn’t know she’ll end up giving him her heart instead.Dragonriding!AU, loosely inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Ella Lopez, Chloe Decker & Mazikeen, Chloe Decker & Trixie Decker, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, God & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Mazikeen & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Series: A Song of Ash and Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759798
Comments: 964
Kudos: 706
Collections: catchingthewindfav





	1. The Dragon Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This is a “Game of Throne-ish” AU in the sense that it mixes angel lore from Lucifer and Valyrian/Targaryen dragon lore from A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin, but it’s not required for you to have read the books or seen Game of Thrones because I won’t use plotlines nor characters from the series: it only served as inspiration for world-building. If you like fantasy, dragons and badass Deckerstar, I'd say you're set (and Lucifer in leather armor, did I mention that?).
> 
> Huge thanks go to ZeeLinn, who has been the most supportive dragonling ever, and who has also inspired most of the aesthetic you'll find in the story in terms of crowns, clothes, armors and weapons. The title comes from the Bible, book 2 Kings verse 1:10.
> 
> This is my longest fic to date and I'm very nervous about it, but I really hope someone out there will like it! It’s also complete and will be updated regularly. Enjoy, and if you like, let me know what you think! :)

The day Chloe meets the Dragon Prince, Lucifer of House Morningstar, she intends to give him a piece of her mind.

Desert sand and dust cling to her sweaty skin as she makes her way to the Dragon City. Pillars of black stone carved in the shape of jutting spires reach for the sky like the clawed fingers of innumerable dead hands sprouting from underground, like half-rotten corpses trying to drag the living down below. Other humans live inside the city, but the village people of the desert prefer to steer clear of the former capital of the dragonlords, fallen into a kind of ruin that might not be apparent, but one that lingers in the walls, in the soil, in the air.

Her little Beatrice clutches her hand tightly, walking alongside her as fast as she can without tripping up. The girl’s curious gaze is distracted, though, directed upwards at what Chloe is desperately trying to ignore. Dragons. Huge, ugly, scaled fire-breathing vultures as far as she’s concerned; capable only of bringing death and destruction upon the world.

The nightmarish beasts fly around the Dragonfort, the highest building in the city, in continuous circles, almost in wait. They flap their wings in a languid, intermittent rhythm that makes it impossible to pretend they’re not there. Silence is a luxury here, apparently; here in this forgotten kingdom that used to be the pride of the angels.

Chloe hates that she had to come here, although hers has always been a life of travelling, of going where she’s needed to seek justice for those who cannot – well, for a price, of course. A life of mild, contained violence, but filled with her daughter’s laughter, if nothing else. The girl’s father left before she was even born, but it’s not like things would have been better with him present. It’s not like he could have protected them from what happened.

If Chloe herself could not, no one else could have.

The demons at the city gates are surprised to see her and her daughter, because of course they are. Chloe and Beatrice, two human nobodies with their hair full of dust and slick with sweat, their clothes torn and blackened and their faces covered in soot, asking to be granted an audience with the prince.

“He won’t like this,” they warn her, but smiling: it mostly feels like they’re hoping she’ll keep going to enjoy the punishment that will meet her for her insolence. Their hard, grey skin almost seems to crack as their faces split into grins, and Chloe tries to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind telling her to run, run, _run_.

But she has made up her mind, and he _owes_ her. She’ll make sure to at least let him know it.

“He doesn’t have to like it,” she replies, defiant. The way her hand tightens around her daughter’s probably gives her away, but it’s a small gesture that seems to go unnoticed. Demons, as far as she knows, tend to lack the knowledge required to recognize what an act of reassurance or affection is in the first place.

After confiscating the sword at her hip (sending the little voice into a fit of panic before she forces herself to stay calm), one of the demons leaves his post at the gates to accompany them to the palace, terrifyingly amused by the prospect. The looming barrier of iron spikes parts to let them in, revealing a maze of cobblestone roads that seems to extend outward from the fort nestled at the center of it, like a twisted version of a crown jewel.

Armored demons patrol the streets, but the human population of the city doesn’t pay them any mind, too busy selling fruit and vegetables, jars of milk or wine or honey, garments of different textures and colors, bracelets, earrings and necklaces of various shapes and materials. The sight fills Chloe with relief: living in this place seems… manageable. Interesting, even. Certainly more than the little towns she’s used to stay in when following a lead, leaving Beatrice in a meager inn to be watched by the owner for a few extra coins.

The citizens also seem to be doing a good enough job at ignoring the dragons above their heads, but Chloe is not as used to them as they are. Sure, she’s been seeing them darting in the sky for her whole life, packs of them, but they were always too fast for her to really make out what they look like. Until today.

Only now, as she approaches the fort, she realizes that not all of the beasts are in flight. One lies asleep on the balcony that hugs the main tower of the palace: it’s so huge that its body coils all around the stone structure and then some, long spiked tail hiding the animal’s head from view, at least from where she is. Its pitch-black scales glimmer under the sun, producing bright, blood-red reflections – the ruby at the very center of the crown that is the Dragon City.

Chloe wonders why the beast is tired, and dreads to find out the answer.

“Mom, I'm scared,” whispers Beatrice – Trixie, when Chloe feels particularly protective, as she certainly does today.

“It’s okay, I'm right here with you,” she tells her, smiling down at the girl. She got her brown hair from her father, although the way the locks curl in a tangle of unexpected patterns is entirely _Trixie_, with no one to give credit to if not fate. Her daughter is a wild playful creature – _monkey_, she calls her –, one who likes to snatch things from stalls until Chloe realizes it and has to go back to pay angry sellers before they make a fuss.

Well, that’s how it used to be. She doesn’t know what the future holds for them now.

Once the maze of roads ends, they find themselves entering a series of concentric yards, like the ripples caused by a stone thrown in a pond. Stables line the sides of every space, the ones farther from the castle clearly occupied by horses, their heads peeking out from over the small wooden doors keeping them there.

From roughly halfway through, instead, the doors become whole, covering their respective cubicles from top to bottom. The screeches coming from inside are unmistakable even for someone as inexperienced as she is.

Dragons, and dragonlings.

How people are able to function with these creatures lurking everywhere around them is beyond her. Just the sounds they emit send shivers up her spine. _If there really is a Hell,_ her father used to say, _those wretched things must surely come from it_.

_Then the Dragon City is Hell on Earth_, Chloe thinks.

The name is certainly appropriate, she also muses to herself as she walks. Dragons are everywhere, and not just living, breathing ones. Carvings and reliefs adorn doors, pillars, balustrades, windows. They are seen as more than pets or mounts to take into battle, she begins to understand. They’re almost… worshipped. Or maybe feared, but with a reverence that recognizes and celebrates their strength.

They might be bred like cattle, trained like horses, chained like hunting dogs until it’s time to use them, but judging by the looming, sleeping figure now directly above her, Chloe can’t help but think that, somehow, they are the rulers here. That if they wanted, they could reduce everything to ash, and all the other beings of the land only exist by their inexplicable mercy.

This city, this world, belongs to _them_, and humans, at least, are just ants crawling in uneven lines on the soil under their claws hoping not to be squashed out of carelessness.

For angels, of course, it’s a very different story.

The demon accompanying them talks to the two sentinels guarding the main door of the palace in a language mortals are simply unable to speak. After a brief conversation, they look at Chloe with malice and nod vigorously. When they open the intricately carved door for her – one dragon wing on each side, open wide and menacing –, she feels like she’s voluntarily sinking into the bowels of the underworld, bound to never see the light of day again.

A candle-lit corridor with no windows leads the three of them forward. It’s impossible to say what time of day it is outside. But thankfully, sunlight greets them once again as they enter what is clearly the throne room, lined with almost floor-to-ceiling windows of painted glass telling stories of mythical battles, victories, defeats. The ceiling itself is made of opaque glass, and curved in the shape of a dome like a shrine, a temple, a sanctuary – although it might just be the exact opposite of all these things.

Along the two sides of the long, long room, humans are busy having whispered conversations as they probably wait for the next petitioner to come forward. Chloe distantly realizes it’s her. Suddenly everyone is looking at her, but she finds herself focusing on what lies _behind_ the small crowd on either side of the hall, right under the windows: dragon skulls of many different sizes.

Some are as small as a dog’s and therefore mounted on stone pedestals to be visible; others are as big as carts or houses, as tall as trees – but all are black and polished to the point of looking like glittering onyx, with teeth like curved daggers of black diamond.

Chloe’s gaze snaps back to the scene in front of her just in time for her to be introduced, or better, harshly shoved forward to stand under the dais hosting the throne: a huge chair made of iron, its back shaped to look like a fire, with uneven curves and pointed ends that look like tongues of flame.

“You stand in the presence of His Majesty Lucifer of House Morningstar, the First of His Name, the Unburnt, Prince of Darkness and Lord Regent of the Dragon City, the Adversary, Firebringer, Son of the Dawn and Tamer of Dragons,” a different demon recites from one corner, his skin covered by elegant silks instead of armor in a way that definitely doesn’t suit him, like a child trying to wear adult clothes with confidence and failing.

_Perfect, so easy to remember,_ Chloe thinks with an internal roll of her eyes, finding comfort in her own sarcasm. _And by the way: Lucifer Morningstar, really? Is that a mummer's name, or something?_

She does a quick curtsey, hastily and propably very poorly imitated by Trixie next to her. She knows they look nothing like ladies: never did, never cared. But it’s not nice, to be surrounded by way better dressed people, and for a moment her eyes stay cast downward in quiet embarrassment. Then, her curiosity compels her to look up.

The Dragon Prince sits sideways on his throne, legs slung over one armrest and elbow resting on the other to support his chin. A picture of boredom and mild annoyance, he has smooth black hair styled in an elegant upward wave only slightly tousled by the crown sitting on his head, almost as if on purpose.

Iron spikes thrust up from his dark locks like the spires of his palace towers, descending into a tangle of metal carved to resemble scaled reptilian bodies intertwining in a continuous, voluptuous dance. They merge in the front to take the shape of a single dragon head with its mouth open, black teeth of what is probably obsidian and two shiny rubies for eyes.

Rubies adorn the front of his burgundy red velvet doublet, too, standing out from the intricate pattern of golden thread that draws the figure of a fire-breathing creature in flight, its head on the prince’s shoulder and its tail coiling around his middle to disappear and end at his lower back.

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Chloe has ever seen. Then again, he’s also the most luxuriously dressed and meticulously groomed: she has never been in the presence of royalty before. Shepherds and farmers and all the other villagers who hire her for her services don’t have the time nor the means nor the _wish_ to take care of their appearance to this level.

And she reminds herself, with a mental slap that hopefully brings her back to reality, that he is no _man_ either.

Chloe dares to look further up and meet his eyes: two pools of brown made sharper by dark lines of make-up. Something shifts in his posture: she doesn’t miss the way he sits a bit straighter to take a good look at her. His gaze lights up and quickly turns into an appraising, lustful leer that examines her from head to toe without shame. She finds it instantly invasive, self-entitled, and irritating.

“And what is _your_ name, love?” Lucifer Morningstar inquires with an arched eyebrow, voice deep and musical thanks to a foreign-sounding accent that curves and bends around the words in all the right places.

She straightens up, ready to make her case heard. “My name is Chloe Decker. I'm here because-”

“_Chloe_,” the prince cuts her off, as if tasting her name on his tongue to decide what he thinks of it. Then he leans forward, looks straight into her eyes and adds, “So tell me… what is it you desire?”

He stares at her as if expecting for something very specific to happen, but Chloe doesn’t know what. His piercing eyes shift from concentration to confusion as he waits for her to answer, and what an odd way to phrase the question anyway. Do all royals talk like that, or just immortal ones?

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a _desire_, but what I _want_ is compensation from you,” she tells him, her voice unfaltering, “for the present and future losses your demons have caused me.”

Surprise quickly turns to mirth on the angel's face. He chuckles in amusement as he replies, “_Compensation?_ From me? Forgive me for my rudeness, but you've got quite the pair of attributes under all those lovely layers, my lady.”

Chloe wants to find a good retort to his bluntness, tell him that she’s no delicate little lady and that she knows her trousers are anything but lovely at this point. She decides to soldier on for the good of her cause.

“Your demons destroyed the town I was staying in, and many more in the vicinity. My horse fled in fear, and I got left with nothing but my sword and the clothes I'm wearing. I have a daughter to take care of, and I need a steady place for a while, for her to be safe while I rebuild my fortune. So I demand your protection. I demand that you hire my talents in finding criminals and wrongdoers by giving me a position in your City Watch, to repay me for all the possible paying customers your dragons forced to flee this land.”

At the word _demand_, gasps and hushed comments of outrage erupt from all around her, rattling the silence of the court. Chloe doesn’t care. What matters is Lucifer’s reaction.

His jaw works soundlessly for a few instants before he turns to the side and gestures for a woman to come forward from the side of the throne. A demon, to be sure, but one of the highest status: a Lilim. They can cover their real appearance with a human-looking disguise, but the ferocity in their eyes, the bloodlust, the thirst for violence, are things they simply can’t hide.

“Mazikeen, is it true?” asks the Dragon Prince, voice deeper and more serious, no hint of his previous playfulness. The demon – Mazikeen – arches one scarred eyebrow, twirls a small curved knife around her finger by the hoop of the hilt, and crosses her bare arms over her leather-clad chest.

“We got carried away on the way back, yes,” she admits with a shrug, as if she didn’t just confess to almost slaughtering men, women and children under a storm of scorching fire. “The raid was a disappointment, the dragons were restless, and so were we. No one got hurt. I don’t see the problem in a bit of harmless fun.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” Lucifer replies in a dark tone, with a quick side glare that clearly says _I'll deal with you later_. He turns his attention back to Chloe and says, “My sincerest apologies, then. One might say I owe you, and we certainly can’t have that. You are… a mercenary, I understand? A bounty hunter? A payed assassin, if you will?”

Chloe bristles. “I don’t _kill_ the people I capture. I simply deliver them to whoever runs the town I'm in, so that justice can be served. And I only do so once I'm sure they’re guilty of a crime. It’s mayhem out there: someone has to step up for those who can’t do it for themselves.”

Lucifer looks impressed. There is something like pride shining in his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“A true justice-seeker! What a rarity in this day and age. But unfortunately, darling, my City Watch is made up by demons exclusively. I'm not sure you'd last a day in their company.”

“Tell them to give me back my sword, Your Majesty,” Chloe forces herself to sweeten the statement, “and we’ll see about that.”

Mazikeen’s face darkens, but her gaze lights up with the thrill of the challenge. On his throne, Lucifer laughs, absolutely _delighted_, making Chloe feel weirdly put on the spot if not outright made fun of. But she’ll endure all this and more to get what she wants: after all, her gender coupled with her occupation has always attracted a mixture of morbid curiosity and mockery, so she’s fairly used to it.

But in the end, surprisingly, Lucifer doesn’t dismiss her. Not really. “I don’t know why, but somehow I believe you, Chloe Decker,” he states with a seriousness that seemingly came out of nowhere. “But you’ll have to prove your skills to the Watch, train with the recruits for a while, until my Commander deems you ready to actually be sent into the streets.”

Chloe has to bite back a laugh of her own: this is absolutely ridiculous. “With all due respect, Your Grace,” she says through gritted teeth, “I know how to apprehend murderers, thieves, rapists. Surely there must be a position more suited to my-”

“What will you have me do, sweetheart?” Lucifer interjects, “Give you my bloody throne for you to sit on, perhaps?”

“You mean your dad’s throne,” Trixie pipes up. Chloe freezes, shutting her eyes for a moment with a sharp intake of breath. Leave it to Trixie to be inappropriate (and alarmingly accurate) at the worst possible times.

“How dare you speak to His Magnificence like that?” the demon who escorted them into the throne room roars next to them. “I shall whip you for it, you insolent girl!”

The demon snatches the leather whip attached to his belt and lifts his arm in the air. Chloe pushes Trixie behind her body to shield her, her face a mask of anger and defiance as she braces herself to bear the strike and the pain.

“Touch either of them, Dromos, and I'll dismember you myself,” Lucifer speaks up abruptly, tone low and calm but thrumming with danger. “Samael's dinner time is fast approaching, and I bet he'd _love_ to savor you as slowly as possible. Demon meat is a bit chewy, or so I'm told, but I'm sure he’ll make do.”

Chloe notices the Lilim called Mazikeen grinning triumphantly, tongue swiping over her upper lip. Dromos lowers his arm and takes a quick step back, head bowed in repentance.

“Apologies, my Lord, I- I thought-”

“Oh, you _think_ now, too? Goodness me, what a shocking turn of events,” Lucifer deadpans. The dragonlord relaxes as he turns his head toward Chloe again, before looking down at Trixie slowly reappearing from behind her mother’s legs. “Now, back to the matter at hand. What is your name, child?”

“Beatrice.”

“You’re a clever little urchin, aren’t you, Beatrice? As it happens, yes, this _is_ my father’s throne, but the king is rather… inconvenienced at the moment,” Lucifer explains with a tight smile that doesn’t reach his dark eyes. He claps his hands together with forced glee and continues, “So! Do you accept my compromise, darling? Or shall I send you on your merry way?”

Chloe grinds her teeth together. With the few coins she has left on her person, maybe she should just buy a horse and food supplies, try her luck and set out for the nearest town, which is now farther away than she would have hoped. After all, she is used to hardship: when her father was still alive, farming was her family's occupation, and after her mother left to join a wandering theatre company, fulfilling her dreams of adventures and play-pretend, Chloe had to grow up fast.

Then, when her father fell sick, she had to stop hunting bounties to take care of him until he passed, although she would have certainly earned more coin while being away; but he asked her, and so she stayed and endured what came for him, going hungry so he and Trixie could eat instead.

Now, the prospect of being essentially demoted and having to work her way up the hierarchy stings, but Trixie is what’s truly important to her. Chloe can’t subject her to such a perilous journey, and this would be a steady job, one she hasn’t had in, well, ever.

And although this is a city of demons, judging by the prince’s swift reaction at least she has him in her corner; she’s in the dragon's lair, literally, but here Lucifer can stop his subjects’ hands in time before they strike.

There is safety in being this close to the source of the danger, instead than out there where danger likes to go to play.

“Fine,” she concedes, then continues to clarify, “as for my daughter-”

“Oh, I'm sure we'll find her something to do,” Lucifer cuts her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Help out in the kitchen, perhaps? Everyone must pull their weight around here.”

It’s not uncommon for children of Trixie's age to have tasks to perform, but Chloe still wants to try her luck and see if she can gain something more out of the negotiation: a less demanding role for the girl, and a few perks on the side.

“Cupbearer, at best,” is her counter offer. “_Your_ cupbearer. I want her finely dressed and properly fed, and I want her to have a tutor for her studies.”

Such luxuries are reserved to children of lords and ladies, wards allowed the privilege to live and work at court, if there is such a thing in this hellish place. Chloe knows as much, and so does Lucifer.

“You want an awful lot of things, dear.”

“Well, like you said, my Lord… one might say you owe me.”

She can see that her boldness amuses him, even though he tries not to show it. Royals, of any kind, are never used to people speaking their minds.

“This means I would have your offspring near me more often than not,” he reasons with annoyance, but at least he’s considering it. “Don’t get me wrong, she seems better than most. I mean, nothing to crow about, but nothing to be too embarrassed about, either, so that’s quite good.”

_How nice of you, Your Majesty_, Chloe sulks internally. Is she making a mistake?

She thinks about Lucifer’s words when he stopped the demon. Cruel ones, to be sure, but cruelty is what’s needed when dealing with such foul creatures. It’s a mystery why a being such as him surrounds himself with them in the first place, a mystery whose resolution is, as far as she’s concerned, lost in the depths of history and his unnaturally long life.

But there is something else in him, she feels. Something that begs to be trusted, to be put to the test. She takes a leap of faith.

“She won’t give you any trouble, I promise. So, do we have a deal, Your Grace?”

Lucifer crosses and uncrosses his legs in thought. The fabric of his doublet shifts and pulls over firm muscles straining to break free. The high collar framing his sharp jaw gives him a stern look that doesn’t match the almost childish playfulness in his eyes. Chloe suspects it’s been a while since he had this much fun.

“I'll tell you what,” he answers slowly, “you can have the position, without any training, but only on one condition.”

Chloe is getting tired of this back and forth, but she lights up at the prospect of an opening. It’s already a wonder that Lucifer cares about her predicament: his subjects caused it, yes, but kings and princes always see themselves above it all. So Chloe nods and waits for him to keep going, hoping his new offer won’t be too outlandish or unacceptable.

“There is a murder case my City Watch seems unable to solve. The victim is a person I cared about very much. Help me find and punish the miscreant who did it, and you got yourself a deal.”

Chloe beams. Finally, she gets to have a bit of fun, too.


	2. If Dragons Are Monsters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer get acquainted with each other during their first case together, and cupbearer Trixie surprises Lucifer with an unusual request.

They catch Delilah’s murderer in roughly a week, following the trail of debts, affairs and intrigue left behind by a mysterious and very costly bracelet the woman received as a gift. Chloe had assumed she would have been sent to investigate alone, but instead, Lucifer has been with her right from the start. Mostly unhelpfully, but certainly providing a lot of enthusiasm and… words. So many words.

Jimmy Barnes, the victim’s benefactor and one of her many lovers, thrashes about on the ground under Chloe’s unyielding hold, until she grows tired of his attempts to escape her and presses her sword against his throat. The man, thick and balding and with small, cruel eyes, stops moving to glare at her before Lucifer suddenly appears in his field of vision, hovering over them both.

“Well _done_, Chloe Decker!” he announces, clapping repeatedly as if enjoying a show. “I have to say, I'm impressed!”

People walking by look alarmed for a moment before they simply keep going: Chloe has no authority here yet, but the prince’s presence is enough to let them know she’s allowed to do whatever she’s doing, especially considering Lucifer’s evident delight. She pants from exertion, blowing rebel strands of hair away from her face.

“Your Majesty? Would you mind giving me a hand?”

“Oh, you don’t need to ask me twice,” he replies, but when he crouches down next to the pile of limbs that is her and Jimmy, he makes no move to help her, despite knowing that she needs to turn the man around and bind his wrists together with the rope attached at her hip. Instead, Lucifer leans forward and locks his gaze on Jimmy's, who grows even more still – unnaturally so.

“Hel-lo,” Lucifer singsongs, his smile feral. “Tell me, you pitiful excuse of a human being… why did you do it? What did you desire?”

The question is an echo of the one he directed at her in the throne room, but this time, Chloe has the unmistakable impression that the recipient doesn’t actually want to answer it. And yet, he does. Eyes glassed over and unfocused, Barnes confirms her theory.

“To repay my debts. I gave her so many gifts, they were mine to take back if I wished! But she wouldn’t _let me_!”

“Ah, greed,” Lucifer acknowledges, pensive and quietly angry. “You’ll soon be sorry to have ended her life, I can assure you. No amount of gold will be worth the suffering.”

Chloe knows angels are creatures of many talents, but she doesn’t know what to make of the fact that Lucifer's hypnotic look didn’t work on her, aside from being glad her mind can’t be forced to be so pliant without her control or permission. She has to admit, though, that it would certainly come in handy in her line of work, as she just witnessed. Turns out he's not that useless after all.

After she finally manages to tie up the murderer and as she drags him behind her by his wrists, she looks at the angel walking beside her, as out of place as ever in his fancy midnight blue doublet. The garment is decorated with pinpoints of silver thread resembling stars in the blackness of the night sky; there are no dragons in the embroidery, but he has a belt with a dragon-shaped buckle around his waist.

On his head sits a _different_ crown, lighter for everyday use: a circlet of three silver lines, the central one thicker with two thinner ones wrapping around it continuously, ending in an 8 figure shape at his forehead. Aside from this accessory, he always has at least one fire-breathing beast as part of his ensemble, and an ever-present black onyx ring around his middle finger – which, now that she thinks about it, is more likely to be dragonbone, a lucky charm from the predecessors of the monster he rides.

Worried about his last words, she shakes her head to snap out of her musings. “So, what will happen to him?” she asks, giving a nod in the direction of Barnes trailing behind her like a very, very annoyed dog. She's well aware that some of her bounties have ended up with a noose around their necks or with their heads chopped off, but it doesn’t mean she likes it. For one, dying is too easy of a way out.

“He will pay for what he’s done,” Lucifer says vaguely, the crowd parting before him, before _them_, to let them pass. Their horses (well, Lucifer’s and the one given to her for the task) are waiting nearby, but of course, the culprit will just have to keep up by foot.

“That’s… not really an answer.”

“It isn’t?”

Chloe shoots him a glare. It comes incredibly, remarkably easy. The prince flashes her a bright, playful grin.

“Come now, darling, you needn’t worry,” he cooes. “Can’t be good for that lovely skin of yours. But seriously, if you’re referring to a death sentence, you can rest assured we have no such thing here. And you can believe it, because I never lie.”

There are many other things the statement doesn’t rule out, but Chloe decides to let it go. After all, there’s nothing she can do, so it’s better to ignore what comes _after_ she does her duty: that part is not for her to take care of.

“You can leave the miscreant to my Princeguard,” Lucifer tells her as he gets off the saddle, once they are back in the inner yard closer to the castle. “And after that, you are more than welcome – nay, you’re invited! – to join me in my solar, to celebrate. I'll see you there,” he concludes before heading inside, without even waiting for her to agree. Right. Royals.

As he leaves, an armored demon of said Princeguard takes the rope from her hand and starts walking toward the entrance, dragging Barnes along. Chloe watches them go, but curiosity takes over: despite what Lucifer said and despite her resolution to stay out of it, she follows. For a while, the demon doesn’t object… until he does.

“You won’t be allowed in here,” he grumbles, stopping to a halt in front of a heavy door at the end of the flight of stairs they just walked down. Then he nods at the two demons guarding it: one of them produces a key, puts it in the lock and opens to let him and Barnes step in. As they do, before the door closes again behind them, Chloe can glimpse only darkness from the other side, and a distant red glimmer like one of a brazier or fireplace burning.

The sounds, instead, drift clear and unmistakable to her ears, if only for a moment. There is no screaming, not really: it’s something more subdued. Crying, mostly. Pleading for “it” to stop. Someone swears to be good, to be better, to never do it again. Whatever is happening down in this dungeon is working, but Chloe is not sure it’s a good thing.

She doesn’t feel shocked, not really, but her imagination is providing her with images she'd rather put out of her mind. It’s no good to dwell on this. She knew the kind of place she was setting foot into when she arrived: if she wants to thrive here, she needs a thick skin.

So Chloe steels herself, tries to stop wondering what exactly awaits Jimmy Barnes on the other side of that door, and joins the Dragon Prince to collect on her reward: the official appointment as City Guard that was promised to her, given she'd prove her worth. Which she did, and spectacularly, she might add.

“Here you are, darling, how lovely of you to join me,” Lucifer greets her as if her arrival is somehow a surprise, eyes mischievous and playful. He gestures for her to sit across from him at the table near the balcony: on it, a cup has already been filled with wine for her, probably by the demon Trixie will soon replace. What a weird thought.

She sits down and takes it, then awkwardly bumps it against the prince’s as he toasts, “To our shared victory!”, which, fine, sure.

Over the brim of his bejeweled chalice, Lucifer is the one to comfortably initiate a conversation. He explains to her that it’s not every day he gets involved in the proceedings that increasingly fill his dungeons with the worst his city has to offer, but this crime, as he already mentioned, felt personal.

“She used to sing for me as I played the harp to entertain the court, before another one of her lovers grew jealous and put an end to it. Humans, always thinking the worst of everyone. I'll have you know I was a perfect gentleman, actually.”

Gentleman or not, Chloe doesn’t have a hard time believing a lover could grow jealous of the tall and dark-haired dragonlord, even over something as simple as him playing an instrument. She’s not blind. She wonders how many people have fallen for him over the years, the centuries: a man (so to speak) like him doesn’t even have to try.

The world is filled with cults and beliefs of many kinds, and although Chloe doesn’t follow any, she does remember everything she’s heard during her travels, like the words of a preacher in a mountain town square.

_Beware of the beauty of those who came from the Heavens, for even Evil disguises itself as an angel of light. To incite lust is their nature, and to surrender to it is, sadly, ours._

“It was lovely, while it lasted,” Lucifer continues, unaware of Chloe’s moment of distraction. “Nowadays I mostly play in my private music room. Bloody demons could never appreciate good music anyway, so why bother.”

_Why is he telling me all this?_, Chloe wonders, subtly studying him as she drinks. Away from his demon subjects and human suitors, the prince talks a lot in general: he’s been a constant stream of comments and opinions, not exclusively relevant to the investigation, either. A sign of loneliness if ever there was one, and Chloe seems to have become his excuse to vent and say all the things no one else might be interested in hearing.

Although, to be fair, many others seemed to be. Like Linda, the keeper of the tavern where his friend Delilah used to linger to share her worries and secrets.

“Oh, Your Majesty, you cheeky devil! Of _course_ you can come any time – on the house! My _door_ is always open for that permanently handsome face!” the blond middle-aged woman giggled that day, basically throwing herself at Lucifer before Chloe could open her mouth to ask for a list of the dead girl’s lovers.

Of course, people tend to get overexcited in the presence of royalty, especially if completely unexpected; still, Chloe thought they would maintain a certain distance more suited to their difference in status. But the truth is, Lucifer was the one encouraging such closeness, kissing the back of women's hands in greeting no matter their class, charming men and women alike with a reverence more suited to people of noble blood.

And offering, without any hint of shame, to _reward_ them for any information provided with his company, this time in private – _Only if you so desire, of course, dear_ (which they all did).

On the one hand, Chloe found it… reckless, for a prince to invite commoners into his bed. There are rules in place, and for a reason. Unspoken laws, but laws nonetheless. But of course, he’s a rule-breaker: when you’re used to seeing the world from above and having it at your mercy, silly rules of conduct probably lose their meaning entirely.

On the other hand, it was a refreshing, almost fascinating thing to see flattery on so many surprised faces, and to watch how Lucifer simply doesn’t care about social norms and distinctions: people are people to him, it seems, very unusual for those in power. The difference in his treatment of humans and demons couldn’t be clearer, but as they just experienced, there are also humans unworthy of his kindness.

“Can I ask you something?” she blurts, interrupting a moment of silence between them. As she waits for a reply, sunlight shines in through the open arches separating the room from the balcony, mitigated by red curtains weakly moving in the breeze, like waves of blood rippling a cursed sea.

Lucifer stirs from his seat, a grin spreading across his face at her sudden curiosity. Chloe has been nothing but professional so far, which has not failed to annoy him, leading him to poke and prod at her stern demeanor to get her to lower her defenses. He seems to think that’s what’s happening – how endearing.

“Anything, darling,” he replies with that deep voice of his.

“How does the City Watch usually investigate to solve murders?”

He blinks at her for a moment, probably disappointed by the boring, not-Lucifer-related question.

“Why, with torture, of course,” he shrugs. “Or by threatening it, at least. The prospect of losing fundamental body parts tends to loosen the tongues of accomplices, I'm told.”

And there it is, the other side of the coin. Chloe tries not to shiver. Her methods might include roughing people up from time to time, but never to this extent. Yet she isn’t afraid to say what she thinks: Lucifer himself hasn’t given her any reason to be, despite the cruel rules of the kingdom he governs.

“In truth, I feel like that leads people to say what they _think_ you want to hear. It’s not a very effective course of action, I find. But of course, I'm sure your demons know what they’re doing,” she quips, raising the cup to her lips to hide her smile.

Lucifer pushes his tongue to the inside of his cheek and smiles back, intrigued. “My my, keep this up and I might even make you Lord- well, _Lady_ Commander one day.”

“I shall take you up on that, Your Majesty,” Chloe grins, enjoying the flavor of the rich liquid on her tongue. She’s never had wine this good before, and it’s another reminder of where she is, of who sits across from her.

Does she really have him wrapped around her finger already? Or is this a game to him? Is he tricking her into feeling important before sending her away to the barracks to fend for herself, without any further courtesy reserved to her? If that’s the case, she’ll probably have to fight tooth and nail to be respected, this time not despite her gender but her _species_.

“I can only imagine the look on Mazikeen's face if that day shall ever come,” the prince replies casually, but there is truth in his words, almost a warning. His fierce, terrifying Lilim general leads his Princeguard and Dragon Army, so Chloe won’t directly challenge her authority no matter how high she climbs, but she knows her being human is something Mazikeen couldn’t swallow.

She looks at the Dragon Prince for a moment: an enigma she struggles to solve. He has given shelter and a livelihood to her and her daughter and is more than benevolent with his law-abiding subjects, but he also consciously chooses to live among bloodthirsty creatures who expect nothing less from him. Because for some reason, he is alone here, the only one of his kind.

His words when he mentioned his dragon’s hunger, despite how they were uttered to protect her and Trixie from harm, chill Chloe to the bone whenever she thinks about them. But at the same time, there is a gentleness in him that is wasted here in this kingdom of blackened stone, buried under the charm and the looks. _Bloody demons could never appreciate good music anyway._

“Your Grace, if I may be so bold,” she starts, waiting for a nod of permission she doesn’t really need, “why do you live among them? Demons, I mean. Aren’t they… below you by nature?”

_So are humans_, she reminds herself. _So am I._ This can only be a game, to him. And she, a plaything, just like all the other members of her species he likes to seduce. He must have joined her as a pastime, an escape from reality, a way to pretend to be something he’s not: a crime-solver with a heart of gold.

But does it even matter? Chloe got what she wanted out of the bargain. Her Beatrice is safe, and will soon be dressed almost as finely as the princess she used to dream of becoming. No, not a princess – a queen, a ruler of a far away land teeming with strange, foreign creatures. In a way, Chloe feels like they are already living in her fantasy.

Lucifer stiffens, the chalice halfway to his lips. His features harden. After days of seeing the insufferable seducer at work, Chloe glimpses the angel underneath. The prince. The dragon tamer.

“Someone needs to keep them contained, and that someone is me,” he states flatly. “They are my responsibility now.”

Now, as in, it wasn’t always the case. Chloe nods silently. She knows when she’s pushed too far.

A flap of wings cuts the air, then another, and another. The sound grows louder and closer, making Chloe tense up in her chair. Looking outside, she realizes this is the highest balcony, the one that wraps around the main tower of the Dragonfort. The one on which she saw a dragon sleeping comfortably, as if it owned the place.

Because it does.

“Ah, there you are!” Lucifer exclaims cheerfully, discarding his chalice on the table between them to stand up and greet his… pet. The sight of the monstrous beast landing outside with a harsh thump seems to be enough to change his mood for the better. The same can’t be said for Chloe.

The walls and floors shake under its weight. The air grows hotter with its presence alone, stifling, suffocating. Even while staying inside, she can sense the heat radiating off its body, evaporating in puffs of steam through its black scales. A terrifying reptilian eye the color of blood peers curiously at her through the gap between the pillars now that Lucifer has pushed the curtain aside to walk out.

The dragonlord stops and looks back at her from over his shoulder. “Why don’t you come say hi, love? I promise you he doesn’t bite. Not unless I tell him to, that is.”

Chloe swallows thickly. It’s a joke, but not entirely. _Samael's dinner time is fast approaching_, Lucifer had said. Does he really… feed it people on a regular basis? Only demons, maybe, since he spoke against killing human prisoners?

And how many angels has he killed on dragonback? There is a celestial war raging in the skies, impossible to witness from the ground. No one knows with certainty why it started, or who's winning. But everyone knows what it takes to win it.

_Fire and Ash_. The motto of House Morningstar.

“Thank you, but I'm fine where I am,” she rushes to say, then stands up abruptly. “Actually, I think I'd better be going and get settled in. I hope you have a good day, Your Grace.”

Lucifer’s face falls. Chloe doesn’t know if refusing to pet a dragon breaks some kind of social rule among his people, but quite frankly, she doesn’t feel like she should be expected to care.

As she leaves the room, she imagines they won’t see each other that often now that all pending matters have been settled between them, now that their game of play-pretend has come to an end. And to be fair, she’s not sure how she feels about it.

Despite it all, she must admit that it was nice to work in someone’s company for a change, no matter how quirky or annoying or… mysterious. It felt rewarding to deliver justice with him at her side, her skills being praised and marveled at instead of constantly demeaned and questioned, as it often happens whenever she crosses paths with the opposite sex in this sadly male-dominated world.

But at the end of the day, maybe it’s for the best. She doesn’t need the complications he will bring. She doesn’t need _him_. What she needs is to remind herself of his darkness instead, the one that lies deep under the light. Because Lucifer is an angel, and like all angels, rides Death itself in the wind.

If dragons are monsters, he must be one, too.

~🔥~

The child seems to be having some trouble with the other little parasites crawling all over his castle like rats in a dungeon.

Lucifer doesn’t concern himself with them for most of the time. If his human servants want to have their spawn around, so be it, as long as they don’t disturb him. Generally, they don’t. Truth be told, no one really does.

Humans are fun to play with, fascinating, even. But the ones he welcomes in his bed are never really truthful in their affections, and the ones crowding his court for favors only seek what they need without lingering too long. Sometimes he daydreams of pretending to be one of them, just a common man in a market street, or a seller tempting lovely ladies with a sinful apple bite.

But Chloe, his little justice-seeker, didn’t erupt in a fit of giggles at the sight of him. She didn’t bat her eyelashes at him to get what she wanted. She didn’t lift her skirt (hell, she probably doesn’t even _own_ a skirt) to coax him into giving her what she felt she deserved. And the strangest thing of all, she didn’t tell him what she desired because of the power behind his question, but because she simply… desired to tell him.

He could feel the waves of it bouncing back against her as if stopped by a wall, his efforts coming up empty before her fierceness, her resolve. She is a mystery, to him. And no one ever is.

The urchin he got stuck with as a result is manageable enough. Amusing, to an extent. She’s been pouring wine for him over meals, when he’s in his study to go over taxing laws, debt collection and other boring affairs of the sort, and when he receives visits of a… child-proof nature. She got the hang of it quickly enough, after spilling a few drops here and there on tables or pieces of parchment.

And like her mother, she couldn’t care less about protocol when speaking to him.

“What is that thing? What are you doing with it?” she asks when he uses his abacus for a few calculations, giving him the impression that math isn’t her strong suit. Good thing Chloe took the opportunity to secure her education while negotiating with him: given her occupation and the wandering that comes with it, maybe she never could before.

He respects that. A mother’s love. Not tough as his mother’s was, just… freely given. Selfless. Absolute.

He’s been a child, too. Humans tend to see him and his lot as never-changing beings, like statues, but it’s a misconception borne of the fact that they die too quickly to know any different. No, angels are born small and weak and helpless, like mortals, then grow until their permanent form settles, older and wrinkled in appearance much like a middle-aged human. It will be another few millennia before his does.

That’s also why he knows what it means to be bullied and harassed. Michael was always stronger than him, for some reason, despite the fact that they came into the world together. Lucifer’s twin loved to hide his dragon egg from him to watch him search for it desperately: it was dangerous to be separated from it for too long, because the bond slowly forming between hatchling and future rider could be permanently tainted by the distance.

His mother and father couldn’t be bothered to defend him. He had to learn to be tough, they said. He had to claim that bond for himself unless he wanted to stay dragonless, a pariah among his kind. Not a big deal for someone who can fly on his own, one might think. But taming the very first beasts that roamed the land was the pride of his species, a tradition dating back generations. Surely, a princeling such as him could not disappoint his family like that.

He still remembers the moment his Samael broke free from the constraints of his thick eggshell, almost as hard as stone, black and cracked like frozen magma. He still remembers the dragonling's red eyes looking at him like no one else existed in the world, and the relief that came with the realization that he made it, he did it, he proved himself worthy.

But dragons or not, human children can be just as cruel sometimes. In fact, he finds them even more despicable.

He hears a kitchen girl taunting Beatrice from behind a corner as he roams his palace aimlessly, as he frequently (too frequently) does. The voices approach rapidly, making him aware that the girl is following Beatrice at a fast pace after his cupbearer probably went down to the wine cellar to refill the jug for him. How often does he send her there? Too often, probably.

“They gave you such a dumb job because _you_ are dumb! You think yourself a princess now just because you’re all dolled up? My dad said you’re here only because the prince wants to do nasty stuff with your mom!”

“Leave me alone!”

“What, you’re too important to speak to me? Who do you think you- _aaah!_”

Lucifer turns the corner just in time to admire the hilarious scene with his own eyes: the mean girl is hunched over with her hands between her legs, and Chloe’s spawn has a pleased smirk on her face. Did she just…?

“I kicked her where the sun doesn’t shine,” the urchin announces triumphantly as soon as she spots him. She's wearing what she declared is her favorite doublet among the many he had made for her (_too_ many, and she had to approve them _beforehand_ – a nightmarish couple of days, that was): a garment of purple velvet with a white pattern of flowers and fairies in the front, flowing into a short skirt on top of equally white stockings.

“I see.” He grins at her admission. “Well played. Well played, indeed.”

He walks closer to the pair and crouches down to look the bully in the eye. “You’ll be kinder to Beatrice from now on, I hope, yes? Or should I go ask your daddy dearest if he really meant all that?”

The kitchen girl pales, unaccustomed to him speaking to her directly. “N-no, I- I'll be kinder, m'lord, I’m sorry!”

“Good. We wouldn’t want you to feel guilty, now, would we?” he insists. A flash of red is all it takes for her to give a scream and stumble backwards and away, disappearing from where she came. Lucifer hopes Samael enjoyed the brief show, too.

As his eyes turn back to brown, he watches her go with satisfaction, then stands up and straightens the fabric of his sleeveless jerkin, black on top of a white-sleeved shirt. Not one of his fanciest choices, but he does love the sleek, stark contrast: with a bit of luck, maybe it will catch on.

“That was cool,” he hears from the side, a whisper of childish awe. He thought Beatrice had stayed behind him, but instead, she moved closer as he spoke and clearly saw what he just did. With her hair arranged in two tight buns on either side of her head and her mouth gaping comically, she looks ridiculous, but then again, don’t they all.

Pleased with her approving reaction, he lets himself relax. “Just don’t believe everything they say, child. You are not stupid. And I…” he hesitates, recalling the bully's words. “I'm very interested in knowing your mother more, that’s all.”

Well, that’s not entirely a lie, now, is it? Oh, he’s been thinking of slowly removing the City Watch armor Chloe now wears, every piece revealing more of her smooth skin until she’s naked and writhing in his bed, but… weirdly enough, her company alone kept him entertained during their inquiries, before they caught the sod who killed poor Delilah and parted ways.

That doesn’t often happen with humans. Or demons. Or anyone, really, once he’s done fulfilling their needs.

The spark in her eyes at the thrill of the chase, the fierceness in her movements as she tackled that pitiful miscreant to the ground to unarm him… She looks like such a small thing, but there is a raging fire inside her, and unlike his own it comes from the desire to do… good. Not just to punish.

Chloe came to this city to do _good_, and Lucifer has never been more hypnotized or forced to deal with his own boredom and, ultimately, utter uselessness. Maybe he should make it a habit, then, this thing of roaming around with her. It was _fun_, and eternity is getting… dull.

Besides, he knows she will play hard to get, and he _loves_ it, loves that his position means absolutely nothing to her. He would never want her to give up because of his title; no, no, no, Lucifer wants her to want _him_, not the stream of names that precedes him wherever he goes.

He could ask her to drop the whole “Your Majesty” nonsense altogether, too, to make it clearer. He doesn’t want her to feel like she owes him reverence nor respect unless he earns them, and bloody hell, he wants to.

He wants to earn them to the point of erasing that look of fear from her face at the sight of his Samael, his other half. They say dragons are the wrath of the skies, the fury of the angels, and he wishes she wouldn’t shy away from such things, because he would never direct them at her.

For goodness’ sake, what _is_ this woman doing to him?

“..Majesty?”

Oh, right, the offspring is still here.

“Yes, child?”

He looks down to find Beatrice biting her lip in thought. Lucifer hopes she’s not contemplating the idea of hugging him out of gratitude.

“Well, what if the other kids make fun of me again? I want to be prepared. I want to learn how to fight!”

He blinks a couple of times, confused. “Your mother hasn’t…?”

The small human shakes her head in disappointment. “She thinks I'm too young to pick up a sword. But your demon lady, she doesn’t have a sword! She has _knives_, I saw them. So tell Mask… Mazek… Maza…”

“Mazikeen.”

“Yes, her! Tell her to teach me. Please, Your Supreme Awesomeness, Your Magnific- Majest- Excellence, please!”

Wine spills over his slacks as the girl basically attacks his leg to tug at the fabric with insistence, looking up at him expectantly. Even _worse_ than a hug. Lucifer disentangles himself from her and takes a step back, affronted.

“Fine, _fine!_” he concedes, gesturing emphatically with his hands. “I'll see what I can do, alright?”

The little page is thankfully satisfied with his reply: she just beams, then leaves to go to his solar where she was originally headed. Lucifer watches her go, thinking to himself.

Truth be told, she’s not wrong in making such a request. It’s a dangerous world out there, not to mention here, as much as her mother might think she’ll be safe. Of course he'd snatch off the arm of any demon looking at her wrong, but still, one is never too young to learn how to take care of oneself in such a place, in this city of dragons and demons and… well, angels. Those, too.

Chloe might not see it yet, but angels might just be the most dangerous of all.

And he should know, because he’s probably the worst of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ the Morningstar motto is, of course, a modified version of the Targaryen one (Fire and Blood)  
~ I know there are many S1 references, but given where this is going, let's imagine Trixie at her S4 age otherwise the idea of her serving/fighting becomes too creepy 😅
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for the response to Chapter 1, and I hope you enjoyed this one, too! See you soon ❤


	3. The Fire Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Chloe gets used to life as a guard of the City Watch, Mazikeen starts voicing her reservations about Lucifer's interest in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, Mazikeen's POV directly follows Chapter 2, while Chloe's retraces her steps in the weeks following Delilah's case before reaching the same point in time. Also, tiny bit of smut in this! ;)

“Are you serious? You want me to train a _human_? One who isn’t even fully grown?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes and sits up against the headboard of his bed. His hair is a mess, his chest is exposed, and judging by the grin on his slick, swollen lips he’s had his stupid angelic face quite literally buried in humans for at least a couple of hours – a fox after raiding a henhouse, licking his lips in the aftermath of his feast and only lacking feathers in his hair to complete the picture.

Mazikeen had to endure the silly laughter of his most recent bedmates – the hens – on the way in, the four women (two of them both named Brittany, if she remembers correctly) buzzing and giggling with excitement as their bare feet led them out the bedroom door.

She stands straight as she looks at him, her gaze stern and disapproving. Not at the sex, obviously: Maze _loves_ sex, and good for him if he wants to indulge. But at his suggestion, absolutely.

“Need I remind you, Mazikeen, that it’s your fault if the girl is here in the first place?” Lucifer scolds her, the dark covers of the bed barely concealing his body from the waist down. He is never ashamed of his nakedness, and what lies underneath is no mystery to her anyway.

“I told you, it was an a-”

“An accident, yes. One that could have killed a lot of humans. After all this time, what part of _off limits_ is still unclear to you and your kind?” Lucifer cuts her off, his anger increasing by the second. And oh, if she doesn’t love that. His fury burns as hot and bright as his dragon’s fire, peeling skin off the victim’s bones with words instead of flames.

“The part where it gets _boring_,” she quips, looking forward to pushing him over the edge that tiny bit more. “But fine, your wish is my command and all that. Still, I just don’t understand what you _see_ in them. They are so… ordinary.”

She stops herself from mentioning the two new humans specifically, as not to give them even more importance. After all, the point still stands.

Lucifer makes a ‘tsk' sound and looks away. “How disappointing of you. You sound just like my father and siblings. They never understood it, either.”

Mazikeen almost takes offense at that: what an insulting comparison. Her blood boils at the mere mention of those bastards, but this is something she actually always agreed with them on. When everything went to Hell for her master, mortals were the first to blame in a long chain of mistakes.

She emits a cooing noise and takes a step closer, then another, and another. She climbs on the bed with ease and straddles Lucifer with confidence, her leather skirt allowing her to grind her naked sex against him, with only the sheet separating them. The prince’s eyes go dark, his sudden interest hot and hard between his legs, hands skimming up her thighs and sides before sliding behind her back to unfasten the straps of her bustier. A long and tiresome affair for anyone else, but not for him.

“Because they knew you are _more_, my Lord,” Maze purrs as he gets rid of the piece of clothing, discarding it to the side to cup her breasts just so. She lifts her hips to move the covers behind her and takes him in hand, watching as his head thumps back against the headboard with a groan. “And I know it, too.”

“That’s not the-” Lucifer starts, but the words die in his throat when she sinks onto him, wet and welcoming despite the abruptness of her decision. Maze moans at the fullness of it, muscles spasming and fluttering around him. She removes his hands from her breasts and pins his wrists against the headboard with one hand, then wraps the other around his neck for leverage.

She can squeeze and tighten her hold as much as she likes: the strength in his muscles and tendons fights against her every touch, their natures clashing, and choking him has become almost a playful challenge at this point. His throat constricts, breath stuttering under her palm as she starts to move, rutting against him in languid circles. Lucifer tries to lift his head to bite at her lips with a feral growl, but the Lilim doesn’t let him, slamming him back against the hard wooden surface behind him.

Her knees dig into the mattress to stop him from lifting his hips and set the pace he wants: sex is a battle of wills for them, a game mastered and perfected by the Prince of Darkness. A game no one but her could put up with.

“Do you really think she could give you this? Give you what you need?” she slips up, allowing that stupidly blond mortal to poison her thoughts, poison this moment; but Lucifer needs to hear it before he makes a fool of himself.

It’s the wrong thing to say.

All of a sudden, Maze finds herself flipped on her back with him above her. She grins up at him, delighted, and they struggle for a while, switching positions as they both try to come up victorious. But the prince is ultimately stronger than her, and so she ends up on her hands and knees with him fucking her into the mattress from behind, one hand tight in her hair and the other around her hip, hooked into her skin like dragon claws.

“Did I give you the impression that you can give me advice as if we’re equals, Mazikeen?” Lucifer pants. “’Cause if I did, the matter needs _immediate_ clarification,” he continues, emphasizing the word with a harsh, punishing thrust.

The words sting, and Maze finds herself not knowing what to say. She moans and claws at the pillow under her head with her fingernails, trying to roll her hips in time with his, but he only grips her more tightly and bends down to whisper in her ear, “Do I need to remind you who is the ruler between the two of us?”

“No,” she admits, grinding her teeth together, “you are, my Lord.”

“Do I need to remind you that I basically _made_ you? That you were a slave before my gift?” Lucifer insists, hand twisting in her hair.

“No, you don’t need to,” she reassures him, turning her head enough to look him in the eye before adding, “I'll never forget that, never.”

Her master's eyes grow warmer, the angel cherishing the memory with her without even needing to properly summon it. His touches turn softer, gentler.

“Good demon,” he praises her in a low whisper, sending a jolt of arousal through her that only grows stronger once his hand leaves her hair to stroke her firmly between her legs. Maze starts thrashing about under him, overwhelmed, desperately seeking the friction of his thumb. Oaths of devotion spill from her mouth, unbidden but so disarmingly true.

“I'll always be there to protect you, Lucifer,” she tells him around a moan as his rhythm increases. “I'll always be there to stop the danger, whether you see it coming or not.”

Lucifer chuckles, but she doesn’t understand why until he says, “I might not see danger coming, but I know for a fact that _you_ are. Right now. Because I say so. Because I _command_ you to.”

He slips two fingers inside her as his thumb keeps stroking the top of her folds, adding exquisite pressure and fullness. Mazikeen comes violently around his fingers and cock, squeezing him where he’s buried inside her, dragging him along with her almost forcefully.

She laughs breathlessly as she comes down, reveling in his harsh, quick breaths in her ear until she feels him relaxing and slipping out of her. Lucifer flops down on the mattress next to her, staring up at the canopy of his luxurious bed as he catches his breath.

It goes without saying that it’s time for her to get up. Demons don’t _cuddle_. Angels might, but Maze isn’t sure he really is one anymore. And truth be told, she doesn’t want him to be. She wants the fire, but not for the light it produces. She wants it for the heat. The burn. The pain.

She will _never_ allow a mere mortal to reduce it to ashes and smoke.

Lucifer doesn’t say a word as he watches her get dressed. His lips are still kiss-swollen from pleasuring his human lovers, and his neck is faintly red from her grip. The mark is already fading, but it fills her with a surge of vicious pride that warms her from the inside, a low thrum in her veins. None of them would have the guts or the strength to do that to their precious little prince.

“She’s just… different, that’s all,” Lucifer murmurs before Maze can slip out the door. “I can’t toy with her as I do with all the others. Lucifer likes.”

Maze rolls her eyes. Men, no matter how many centuries they have under their belt, are such babies sometimes. Give them a shiny new thing to entertain themselves with, and all of a sudden the others become useless or inadequate. She finds comfort in knowing that, like all his previous temporary obsessions (sometimes female, sometimes male, but at least always gorgeous to look at), this one will fade as well.

With this in mind, the Lilim general stalks out of the room and all the way into the innermost yard at the base of the fort.

Mazikeen always loves to fly after sex. It makes her even more sore, makes her feel every ache and burn from the effort, but soothes it at the same time.

Freed from her stable, Lilith welcomes her on her back with a few protests, as usual. For a demon, it’s harder to establish an almost seamless connection like angels are able to do. Yet it’s fitting: the dark grey she-dragon has her mother’s name, and the Mother of the Lilim was never easy to deal with.

But she is a beautiful gift, indeed.

~🔥~

Instead of the barracks near the stables, Chloe has been sent to live in the servants’ quarters, mostly out of courtesy for the fact that she has a child who certainly shouldn’t be sleeping among demons if it can be avoided.

The bed is big enough to host her and her daughter comfortably, and she can enjoy breakfast and dinner with other members of her species at the beginning and end of every day, which is a good change from the grunts and sneers the members of the City Watch have been directing at her ever since she joined their ranks.

_“A human? Has the prince gone mad? Why would other humans fear her?”_

Her fellow mortals are at least welcoming, but watch her with a hint of suspicion that makes what they think of her very clear: that she’s crazy and reckless for taking such a position, maybe even dangerous. So, while sharing meals with them, Chloe tries not to attract any more attention to herself: she already appeared at court from out of nowhere and certainly caused quite a juicy piece of gossip to spread around the castle grounds.

The head of staff is a middle-aged woman called Olivia Monroe, who can’t seem to stop singing the prince’s praises – _“It’s an honor to work for His Majesty, and our duty to make him proud!”_ Chloe doubts Lucifer goes around the palace brushing the pad of his index finger over random surfaces to check how dusty they are, but she understands that a royal has higher standards than the smallfolk, especially judging by this particular royal's looks.

Still, there is something highly amusing in listening to the so-called “Chief” deliver a heartfelt speech almost every morning, while Chloe sips at her cup of warm milk and thanks her lucky star for having chosen a life of fighting instead of serving. She serves a Commander now, it’s true, but her species has provided her with an unexpected advantage: independence.

“Just because His Grace likes to play his little games, it doesn’t mean I have to subject any of my City Guards to your incompetence,” demon Commander Focalor very kindly told her. “You'll patrol the streets alone, and if you die, you’ll only have yourself to blame for your stupid deal.”

Chloe could complain to Lucifer, of course, but would that really be wise? Better accept the blessing even if it wasn’t intended as such.

So she works alone, which isn’t all that different from the way things were before – and also spares her the trouble of having to intervene to stop tortures and other… unconventional interrogation methods.

On her first day off, which comes a week after her official appointment, she takes the time to truly explore and become familiar with the Dragonfort, walking around in a soft white blouse tucked inside a pair of loose brown trousers (Lucifer rewarded her for her first case solved with more gold than she ever received for a single bounty, so Chloe bought herself a hard-earned array of new clothes).

Stern-looking on the outside, the castle is also scarcely furnished on the inside; except for specific rooms, she notices. Mostly, the rooms Lucifer spends the most time in. His bedroom, sitting room and the solar where he eats, which constitute the highest floor of the Prince’s Tower. His study and library, below it. And at the base, a music room with instruments she knows and others she has never seen before, fetched from distant corners of the world or remnants of previous centuries.

The Dragon Prince surrounds himself with the finest things, from tapestries to wines, from elaborately carved chairs and tables to paintings and sculptures – not to mention the clothes he wears. Vain things, in the mind of a farmer’s daughter; but there is such a distinct, palpable lack of beauty in this place that she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to make up for it, in a way.

The rest of the castle feels… empty, and haunted. Haunted by _him_, the one ghost left behind. There are no great ballrooms for grand events and ceremonies, and what must have been the hall dedicated to communal meals is full of dust and spiderwebs. There is no one for whom to host ostentatious lunches and dinners by the light of candelabras or fireplaces, with playful dogs roaming around and under long tables looking for scraps. The throne room contains only the throne, and those ominous dragon skulls that speak of a war that has yet to end.

The kitchen, the laundry room and the human servants' quarters are located below ground, from where they only emerge when needed before disappearing again. The demons of the Princeguard lazily patrol the hallways, and lesser ones are entrusted with specific tasks: mainly tending to horses and dragons in the stables and keeping the weapons in the armory perfectly polished.

As another week goes by, Chloe comes to the conclusion that yes, it _was_ just a game, or at the very least a one-time endeavor: the prince has no interest in fighting crime personally unless the victim is someone he cares about. To be fair, he would mostly be a nuisance, and one who attracts too much attention to be stealthy. Still, she enjoyed the banter while it lasted, and loneliness becomes a sad, tiring thing after a while.

Chloe isn’t one for pining, though. She survived a mother leaving to follow her dreams, dreams that were clearly more important than her. She survived the death of her loving father. She survived being left alone to take care of her daughter when Dan decided to board a ship to some big city of the East, already fallen out of love with her and the fruit of whatever affection they might have shared.

This is nothing, really, and the prince doesn’t really owe her anything anymore. Even without her armor, Chloe’s skin is steel, and doesn’t bend to the whims of any man.

On her second day off, she finds herself wandering into a dusty, half-empty sitting room connected to a bedroom no one seems to use anymore. Inside, staring at the painted windows with her back to the door, there is a short woman with smooth black hair tied into a high ponytail. She turns around at the sound of Chloe’s steps, showing her face, and her big, attentive eyes widen with glee so suddenly that Chloe can’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable.

“You’re the newcomer of the City Watch, aren’t you? I just arrived and I already know everything about you – you are the talk of the palace, girl! From what I've heard, good job putting the prince in his place, let me tell you. He’s pretty, I'll give him that, but he needs someone standing up to him from time to time before his angelic ego grows the size of his dragon. Am I right?”

It’s probably the longest string of words Chloe has heard from the same person ever since she arrived, and it’s almost overwhelming. “And- and you are?” she asks, dazed.

“Oh, where are my manners? I'm Ella,” the woman replies with a huge smile, childish ponytail bobbing behind her. Chloe’s hair is styled in a low bun instead, with a few strands left loose on either side of her face.

“Chloe.”

“Nice to meet you, Chloe. Now, fun fact! Did you know there is unicorn milk in this?” Ella gestures at the bucket dangling from her grasp. “Very few people know it, but it does wonders to clean dirty windows. My grandmother taught me all the tricks of the trade! I actually wanted to become an alchemist but my family couldn’t afford to send me away to the Citadel to learn. Pity. But I still know _aaall_ there is to know about what substance does what, which is nice.”

Chloe smiles at the maid's optimism, although she’s also experiencing the beginning of a headache. She definitely could use a friend at the moment, as she tries to get used to this new environment, to life in this strange, grim city.

“So!” Ella pipes up as she starts wiping the painted glass windows with a damp cloth, “Is it true that you helped His Majesty solve a murder to be hired?”

Chloe looks around, making sure they are alone. She feels bold enough to reply, “Well, I would say _he_ was the one helping _me_.”

“Oh, would you, now?”

Chloe and Ella whip their heads around to find Lucifer standing in the doorway. He has one hip cocked to the side, the long lines of his body leaning against the doorframe. He’s dressed in green today, his doublet covered in very realistic-looking scales, with an emerald-eyed, dragon-shaped broach pinned to his chest that almost seems to observe the space in front of him like a minuscule spy, ready to assess and report back to the master.

Ella scrambles to courtsey, lifting the hem of her simple light blue dress, but there is an amused smile on her lips that matches the one on Lucifer’s face. Chloe, frankly allergic to all these pompous shows of reverence (habits she reluctantly accepted to embrace just so he would listen to her initial proposition), acknowledges him with a nod.

“Yes, I would.”

The dragonlord chuckles. “Fair enough. I admit I was a bit out of my depth. Wine, pleasure and song are my specialty, you see. And punishment. But the boring, follow-the-leads-and-ask-questions part, not so much. You have a lot to teach me, _Commander_.”

It’s a jest, a hint at what he said weeks ago about her getting promoted one day, and Chloe must admit she likes the way the word sounds in his voice. Playful, but not mocking. Rich and full of promise. Oh, she would certainly enjoy putting demons in their place, but she also knows it might never even happen.

The word _punishment_ catches her attention though, making her smile falter before she quickly schools herself. Because she still doesn’t know what _kind_ of punishment takes place behind the closed door that leads to the cells in the dungeons, and the reminder fills her with uneasiness. What does he mean when he says it’s his _specialty_?

Lucifer frowns at her lack of response, then lifts his bent arm and addresses her with sudden cheer.

“Walk with me? There’s been a very interesting development regarding your spawn and her wishes, and I _must_ bring you up to speed.”

~🔥~

The fire dance is a tricky thing, but Trixie considers herself a fast learner. Lucifer’s demon lady isn’t as stern as she expected her to be: on the contrary, Mazikeen shows her the moves with patience and encouragement, and Trixie finds herself looking forward to every new lesson (certainly more than her boring history, math, reading and writing private classes).

“This isn’t the iron dance of those stupid knights you read about in your lame human fairytales,” Maze clarified at the beginning of their very first session. “This isn’t about hacking and hammering with big heavy swords in uncomfortable armors. This is the fire dance, and it has to be swift and sudden.”

Trixie trains with two small wooden knives, standing sideways as instructed. She learns how to move the soon-to-be blades with speed, balance and grace, to see them as an extension of her own arms. Once mastered the art of combat, she will also be allowed to learn knife-throwing, and she can’t wait.

Her mom was reluctant at first, mostly because she said she didn’t trust Maze to put Trixie’s safety first. But now she comes to see her train whenever she can, smiling proudly from her corner as she leans against the wall. Sometimes Lucifer joins, too, and their shoulders brush ever so slightly before they both pull away and keep watching.

_The fire dancer has to see everything_, Maze has told her, and Trixie _does_ see, but maybe they don’t. Maybe they should take her place, once she’s done.

Mazikeen sees too, of course. It’s their fifth lesson, and Trixie just managed to hit her with the side of one practice knife, taking advantage of the fact that the demon’s attention is focused somewhere else.

“I want to learn that, too,” Trixie hears her mother say from behind her. “I am a skilled swordswoman, but this looks _way_ more efficient.”

“This style of combat is an art of the Lilim,” Lucifer explains. “I'm afraid I wouldn’t be as good a teacher as Mazikeen, but I doubt I'd be able to convince her or any other to train you too without endangering your very valuable bits. So if you’re fine with learning the basics from a mediocre example such as my royal self…”

“Mediocre, Your Majesty? I would have never pictured you as modest.”

A low chuckle drifts in the air, mostly covered by Maze and Trixie’s grunts and panting breaths. Mazikeen’s focus is back on the fight, but she’s stopped talking Trixie through it altogether, her expression grim and her jaw set in a sharp line.

“Right, about that…” Trixie hears – they _both_ hear – “..I would like for you to just call me Lucifer from now on. And I think I would like to… help you. To work alongside you, if you’ll allow it. Demons are not exactly the _brightest_ of creatures, and you might be the best chance this city has to stay peaceful, Commander.”

A pause. Mazikeen’s jabs start to become too intense, too hard for Trixie to block. Thankfully they are both using weapons with rounded tips, but the effort is exhausting her, and strangely, her teacher is failing to notice. Trixie’s arms are hurting and her head is beginning to spin.

“It took you a while to gather up the courage to ask me, Your- _Lucifer_.”

“I figured I'd let you get used to the place first, before completely turning your life upside down with my distracting presence, dear. So, what do you say?”

Trixie’s mother hums in thought, considering it, but Trixie knows her well enough to be sure she’s playing with him. And in fact, in the end, Chloe agrees.

“I say I'll grant you the _honor_ of working by my side, but only if you follow my lead.”

The Dragon Prince laughs, his mirth so out of place in this room that stinks of sweat and echoes with sounds that are anything but elegant.

“Oh, Commander, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

At which point Mazikeen lets out a noise of frustration and pounces, sending Trixie stumbling backwards and falling to the floor on her behind.

“Mazikeen!” Lucifer scolds Maze, even as the demon is already crouching down at her level to help her up with an apologetic look on her face. “Go easy on the child, will you? I'm afraid we don’t have a spare lying around.”

Trixie doesn’t miss the way Maze plasters a fake smile of agreement on her face.

“Yes, Your _Majesty_,” the demon spits out as if the words themselves hurt her throat.

~🔥~

Mazikeen always watches. Mazikeen _always_ sees.

But no, Mazikeen certainly does _not_ like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any ASOIAF reader/GoT watcher: of course the fire dance _is_ the Braavosi water dance, and some of the things said by Mazikeen are quotes by Syrio Forel.
> 
> Now that everything is set up, next chapter will feature Lucifer angst (because of course it will) and Deckerstar sexual tension (same 😏)!


	4. Something Quite Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through both their collaboration and their training sessions, Lucifer and Chloe grow closer and closer...

_The air is so thick with ash and smoke that it’s almost suffocating, even for him. The body in his arms, almost impossible to recognize at this point, emits one last strangled breath, a thin and pitiful sound that makes him bleed from the inside, even more painful than the kiss of an angelic blade._

_“I- I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t- Amenadiel, brother, please-”_

_“Don’t call me that. I can’t even look at you right now.”_

_Lucifer’s hands tremble as he uselessly tries to brush the few dark locks of hair left over the corpse's burnt forehead. The angel was small in life, and is even smaller now, like a dead lizard left to dry out in the sun. Such is the price of dragonfire, even for them. The very reason dragons are better kept as mounts than left to roam the skies unsupervised._

_“You got you wanted. You defeated us,” Amenadiel says as he watches the scene, his own grief buried under barely contained anger. “Get back to your city of demons, and don’t ever come looking for those of us who are left.”_

_The dark-skinned angel turns to leave. Lucifer panicks._

_“This isn’t what I wanted! How could you think that of me?” he cries, but his brother keeps walking away through the bloodbath, fists balled up at his sides. “Amenadiel! Amenadiel!”_

_Two dark wings unfurl and take Amenadiel off the ground, away. The pain in Lucifer’s back increases at the sight, but it doesn’t match the ache in his chest. He can feel tear tracks cutting their way through blood and soot along his cheeks, droplets falling on the scorched pile of flesh in his arms only to evaporate in little clouds of steam. It’s not even the only body lying around, but it’s the one it hurts the most to look at._

_“This isn’t what I wanted,” he whispers quietly to himself, shaking. “This isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t-”_

  
Lucifer wakes up in his bed with a start, chest rising and falling frantically, a sob lodged in his throat. The smell of ash and gore still fills his nostrils, forcing him to close his eyes and swallow multiple times to keep the nausea at bay. He tries to sit up suddenly, but there’s an arm wrapped around his middle, pinning him to the mattress.

Raj's honey-colored, muscular body is draped all along his side, the man sleeping deeply with his cheek against the pillow. A traveller, a wanderer who never stops in the same place for too long, and Lucifer’s bed won’t be the exception.

He let those deliciously long and taut limbs hold him down all through the night, but now it’s time to get up, Lucifer decides. His movements are not as subtle as he hopes, though, because Raj’s eyes open and his arm instinctively tightens around Lucifer’s naked hips as he tries to wriggle free.

“Can’t sleep, Your Grace?” the man inquires, accent as foreign and exotic as he looks. Lucifer gently moves his lover's arm away to let it fall at Raj’s side and cups his cheek, tilting his face up to smile down at him with as much confidence as he can muster.

“Princes have a lot on their minds, beautiful, especially immortal ones,” he teases him, brushing his thumb over Raj’s sharp cheekbone. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

The man is surprised by the sight of Lucifer’s red-rimmed, glassy eyes, the angel only now realizes. Raj lifts a hand to mirror his gesture, reaching for his cheek to wipe wetness away. Lucifer can’t stand it, though, this thing called pity.

He captures Raj’s mouth in a rough, deep kiss, holding his head in place. Raj’s hand flails uselessly in the air as the other supports his weight on the mattress, caught off guard by the onslaught. Good.

“You go back to sleep now, yes?” Lucifer whispers once he pulls back, tracing the contour of the man’s lovely lips with his index finger to feel them tingling still. “I'm not sure you’ll find me once you wake up, but do not worry about that. Ring the bell for breakfast and they shall serve it to you. Help yourself to anything you desire.”

“I thought I already did,” Raj answers playfully, a smug grin on his face. Cheeky. Lucifer appreciates it when they keep up.

He laughs in agreement and finally slips out of his lover’s embrace. The man flops back down on the bed in defeat at the sudden lack of warmth, before sighing and closing his eyes as instructed. Lucifer’s feet pad softly over the polished black marble floor: a luxury he allowed himself once he became the one in charge, ordering the material from the most renowned quarry of the area, happy to pay a ridiculous amount of coin for it.

His father would have disapproved, of course. Angels shouldn’t care for things of trivial beauty, even things as unchanging as a streaked hard surface that just so happens to look better than boring old stone. Angels are already gifted with all the beauty there is to have, he would say, and only shine brighter when they surround themselves with simplicity and austerity.

Well, bollocks. Screw the bloody lot of them.

Lucifer wraps his black silk robe around himself and ties the knot lightly over his front. It’s almost dawn outside, the moment when darkness slowly recedes to make space for the light. On the balcony, Samael’s sleep has been disturbed by his nightmare, and the dragon looks quietly agitated, shifting restlessly as if unable to find a good position to doze off again. Lucifer stares fondly, leaning against one of the black side pillars, a thousand reflections of ruby red dancing on his face.

_Go back to sleep. It’s okay._

Samael vibrates with a low hum of acknowledgement and closes his eyes. Sleep, when it comes back to him, is as noisy as ever, a low rumble that reverberates through the floors like a constant buzz, pleasant and comforting. The dragon never leaves on his own if not for hunting, when he decides that being fed like a dog isn’t thrilling enough, and to grant Lucifer… privacy… when necessary.

On those occasions, he’s grumpy and on edge, and resentful like a cast-aside lover when he comes back. A good, long morning flight usually does the trick, and today Lucifer might need it as much as him. He decides to wait a bit longer and take off as soon as the sun is out: he loves seeing the city groggily awake down below, smiles of wonder blossoming on the early risers' faces when they catch a glimpse of their Dragon Prince in the sky.

The humans living in the Dragon City can’t remember the great battle of the Field of Fire, and the war is a far-away thing for them, even now. At least in their eyes, Samael inspires fascination more than fear, and by association, so does he.

Lucifer tears his gaze away from the dragon's sleeping figure and sits at the big table in the corner of the room, completely covered by a yellowing map of the wasteland separating his little kingdom from the Silver City. What an idiotic name, considering it isn’t even _made_ of silver.

Very appropriate for someone as full of himself as his brother to name a city after his own dragon’s shade, and in terribly poor taste, if you ask him. Amenadiel could never keep that angelic ego of his in check.

Thinking about him makes Lucifer think of his nightmare – no, his _memory_ – and he shudders involuntarily. He tightens his robe around himself, even though he knows the tremor had nothing to do with the chilly early morning air. On the map, black and white chess pawns dot the flat landscape: white to mark his siblings’ latest advances and conquests, and black to mark the victories of Lucifer's Dragon Army instead.

They’ve been playing this game for a while, his family and him. Well, what’s left of what once was his family, anyway. And now, even humans are starting to pay the price, which is unfortunate. Although, well… it did lead Chloe to cross paths with him. Is it selfish of him to be happy about it? Probably.

Lucifer picks up a miniature black king and white queen from the map, making sure to remember their positions to put them back down in the right place. He tucks the king in the palm of one hand to skim the fingertips of the other around the queen's crown, tracing its curved edges and the little ball at the tip. Then he places it next to its dark male counterpart and stretches his hand out, balancing them both as they lie horizontally on the pale, thin, lined skin of his palm.

The king is taller, imposing, and its crown has sharper contours, the tips pointed instead of smoothed out. The cross on top is weirdly shaped, with a thin vertical board and a large horizontal one.

Like the lithe body of an angel, with two massive wings on his back.

~🔥~

“Darling, I have been dreaming of you making me sweat, but I expected there to be way less clothes involved.”

Lucifer elegantly dodges Chloe’s swift moves, dancing around her with infuriating grace and confidence. So far, it’s pretty clear that she lacks the elegance of the fire dancers, but in truth, she doesn’t really think she needs it.

Demons might call it that, but fighting, or better, killing, is no _dance_. Not in the real, brutal world. Or at least, not for someone like her who has done it when needed, but without actually enjoying it.

The prince’s jest falls on deaf ears, of course. They all do these days, but he is relentless, probably helped by the patience that must come with immortality.

_“You shouldn’t run like that without stretching first, Commander. Just say the word and I'll help you with it!”_

_“Oh, the way you tackled him! How extraordinary! The heat, the acrobatics… You have moves that almost made me blush!”_

_“Have you ever considered posing for a painter? Many owe me favors for recommending them: they usually repay me with nudes – mine, I mean – but I don’t see why you shouldn’t have a go at it!”_

It's as if Chloe using his given name has opened a floodgate, spilling naughty words into an endless river. But she is a very seasoned sailor when it comes to dangerous waters, and oh, these are a raging storm. It's impossible to ignore the stream of lovers leaving the palace in the morning while she waits for him, a caravan of men and women excitedly walking by as the demons in the yard howl and whistle.

_“Did he do that thing to you, too? The one with his tongue, where he-”_

_“Oh, yes, and the honey? I bet I'll stay sticky for days!”_

_“I never knew strawberries could be used like that!”_

“If you really want to sweat, you could always help with a little more chasing,” Chloe teases him as the dance that really isn’t a dance unfolds, “or do your night time activities tire you too much?”

She doesn’t get to hit him with a real blow for now, but the one to his ego has struck with planned precision. The prince stops to put a hand flat on his chest, mouth open in exaggerated shock.

“Tired? Me? Oh, cruel Commander, you wound me so. You _must_ know I leave the chasing to you out of respect for your extensive experience. Something I have in… other fields.”

This is what they do now, and they do it well, just as well as finding those who need to be taken out of the streets; whether it’s a game to him or not, Lucifer does it with pride, and his enthusiasm is contagious. Chloe would almost call it friendship, this thing between them: very naïve of her, if she stops to think about it, and hypocritical given all her reservations about his true “nature” – as an angel, as a prince, as a dragonrider.

But when they’re here in one of the many abandoned rooms of the Dragonfort, away from stares of confusion and surprise at the mismatched pairing they make, sparring like two children dreaming of becoming knights and playing in the mud, it’s easy to forget who he is, and what awaits him on the balcony at every sunrise to take flight, the walls shaking from the force of that first powerful flap of leathery wings.

And even though Lucifer acts like he wants something more, Chloe isn’t even sure he truly means any of it. She has the feeling he just gets a thrill out of the simple act of trying, of pursuing someone who is proving to be more difficult than usual; of poking at her walls to look for an opening just because he never really gets the chance to do it, as the rest of the world basically has no walls to begin with for him.

He’s doing it now, too, changing tactics to breach her defenses, but literally. His weapons are made of wood and therefore ineffective, while Chloe has already been allowed to use actual blades, short but sharp. “I'm invulnerable to human weapons, dear, and you need to get used to the feel and weight of real knives in your hand,” was his explanation.

She blocks a blow aimed at her side, twirls on the spot and counters with a higher one, almost grazing the angel's throat with the tip of one blade. Lucifer pulls back quickly and laughs, surprised and delighted. Maybe he expected her to be bad at this. Chloe is always happy to prove him wrong.

“Commander, you're a natural! Why did you ask for my help if you clearly don’t need it?” he inquires. The fake title is the only way he addresses her at this point, with the occasional _love_ and _dear_ and _darling_ added in to keep things interesting. Unlike his, Chloe's name has become a foreign thing even to her own ears: in a way, it’s as if their roles have been reversed.

The two of them circle around each other in silent consideration, like two predators ready to tear each other apart. Chloe takes the opportunity to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a lock that escaped the confines of her braid, tight and warrior-like. Sweat dots her forehead and causes her rough white shirt to cling to her skin, the beads pooling under the leather belt at her waist.

“I’m still too rough around the edges,” she replies with a shrug, keeping her eyes firmly on her opponent as they study each other. “My early training was using a stick to beat up boys trying to steal my dad’s crops, after all. That’s why I need you-”

“Oh, you need me?” Lucifer latches onto her words like a bloodsucking leech, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. Chloe wipes the smirk off his face with a blow that stops just short of his shoulder, one of his wooden knives colliding with her wrist.

“To get _better_ at this,” she clarifies, dodging a half-hearted swing of his own. “Because you’re the one-”

“I'm the one?”

“..who can teach me without biting my head off like your demon bodyguard would do.”

The answer gives him pause. “You know, I would actually pay a fairly decent amount of gold to see you two have at it. I might actually be surprised by the outcome! And I could even have some mud thrown into the mix for a bit of extra flare. Would you be interested? We could accept wages and split the reward.”

Chloe scoffs and shakes her head. Not that long ago, Lucifer warned her against defying Maze, and she tries not to revel too much in this slow shift in power. But the truth is, she wants him to know she can be just as deadly as a demon. She wants him to know he should fear her, too.

“You’re unbelievable,” she tells him instead, and there is a thrill in knowing she can speak to him like this, honest and unapologetic. Like an equal – which technically speaking she is not, but who is she to deny him if it’s what he wants? Why should she deny this to _herself_?

People in the castle and all over the city know that they go around catching murderers together, and the arrangement attracts a mix of reverence and jealousy; but mostly, it lets people know they’d better think twice before coming at her, for whatever reason.

Their fighting sessions have been kept secret instead, not to incite further spite in the other members of the City Watch, although Chloe isn’t sure she would mind. She will never forget the look on Commander Focalor's scaled face when Lucifer appeared bright and early at the City Watch barracks on the first day of their partnership.

_“But- but my Lord, this is unheard of! The prince himself going after filthy criminals in back alleys and brothels? What will people think?”_

_“I'll have you know I know my way around back alleys and brothels, and besides, let them think what they want. The Commander here is used to subvert social expectations and stereotypes, isn’t that so?”_

_“The what?”_

_“Ah, don’t fret, it’s just an inside joke between us. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”_

_“Y-yes, but-”_

_“Right, glad that’s settled then. You have a lovely day keeping the fine people of this city safe, and we'll do the same. Where to, Commander?”_

She found such joy in it: she doesn’t need others to know of this too to feel powerful and congratulate herself for her decision to settle down here. Thanks to it, Trixie herself won’t be a helpless little girl for much longer (a condition that was partly Chloe's fault, blinded as she was by her motherly apprehension), and Chloe has a prince hanging onto her every word, like a child eager to learn from her talents, and it’s intoxicating.

But oh, Lucifer is no child, that’s for sure. After dodging her most recent blow, he spins around her and positions himself behind her, his right arm blocking hers against her front and his left one at her throat. He keeps her locked in a light vice Chloe knows she could easily disentangle herself from, because he would allow it.

“Me, unbelievable? Oh, you have _no_ idea,” the angel murmurs against her neck, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. So this is the game he wants to play now?

Fine, she can pay him back in the same coin.

Chloe makes a show of further baring her neck to him, inclining her head to the side. She can feel Lucifer’s panting breaths against her back, his body instantly moving closer. The shiver that runs down her spine isn’t for show, but he doesn’t need to know it.

Lucifer’s right thumb leaves the handle of his practice weapon to stroke her pulse point where her wrist is pinned against her own chest. As he leans closer, pressing himself against her, Chloe can’t help but close her eyes and marvel at how solid he feels, tall and lean and all-encompassing.

She lets one knife fall to the floor and lifts her now free hand to gently tangle her fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck. She smirks to herself at the way his breath catches in his throat, at the little spark of sudden interest between his legs that makes her swallow thickly despite how in control she’s trying to be.

She is literally playing with fire, but she’s the one holding the torch.

The prince’s lips are almost brushing her skin now. “Mm, you surprise me, Commander,” he whispers as he inches closer and closer and closer.

_I'll surprise you alright._

Chloe grips his hair tightly and pushes his hand away from her chest, startling him so much that the wooden knife flies away to land on the floor. She whips around, clutches at the prince's collar and pulls him against her, the tip of her remaining blade under his stubble-covered chin.

Lucifer chuckles down at her, then lifts his arms on either side of his body in an act of surrender, second knife also falling from his grip but by his own will.

“You clever minx,” he whispers, not too far from her lips but without making any move to get closer: he knows she wouldn’t let him, because she’s the one who won the game. Chloe grins at him, victorious.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

~🔥~

Lucifer undresses slowly in front of the vanity mirror, smiling to himself. Images of Chloe training with him dance in his mind to the sound of their blades colliding, of their bodies gravitating toward each other to meet and separate over and over.

The Commander has never been more beautiful, probably because she’s never been more deadly; the spark of enthusiasm and hunger for action in her eyes, the grin of satisfaction on her face at every new move she managed to master in a shorter time than he would have given her credit for.

This woman who sees past his tricks and charms will be his undoing, and he can’t wait to find out how. To be quite honest with himself, she’s already challenging him, making every day different and exciting, allowing him to witness the everyday life of a city he had forgotten to care about, of a humanity he has always been enamored with but maybe more on the surface than he'd like to admit.

He was the one who opened the gates to them, to humans; and yet, in time, he settled for the feel of their skin instead of trying to reach deeper into their hearts. And it’s true: he and Chloe catch the worst of the worst, forcing him to deal with sin on a daily basis; yet all Lucifer sees is the beauty of their righteous mission, the power that comes from their joined skill, the tenderness masked by annoyance in the way Chloe allows him to tease and provoke her.

Lucifer has never cared much for the world, aside from the pleasures he could find in it; yet now, with her, he suddenly wants it to be better, wants to _make_ it better. And while he needs a dragon to purge the skies from enemies, on the ground he only needs her.

As he stares at his now naked chest reflected back at him, his fingers trail over the spots where her weapons almost hit him – hip, shoulder, the hollow of his throat. Lucifer imagines her hand there instead of his own, delicate but skilled fingers wrapping possessively around his neck, his pulse quickening under her palm.

Then, he remembers her grin once she managed to unarm him, her sneaky blade under his chin. He imagines Chloe leaving it there, but pushing herself up on her toes to slip her tongue past his eager lips, claiming him, gripping his hair even more tightly than she did in training to force him down against the tip of the knife, teasing him with the ghost of impossible pain.

Oh, he'd let her do whatever she wanted to him: let her skim that knife all over his body, laughing at her pout when his skin would refuse to break. She’d put all her efforts in it, as stubborn as she is, her brow adorably furrowed in concentration; and maybe for her sake he could pretend to feel it – no, he _would_: perhaps not the pain itself, but the thrill.

He palms himself through the roughspun slacks he wore for the sparring, his other hand on the edge of the vanity for support. Closing his eyes, he leans into his hand, its strokes becoming more deliberate, feeling shape and thickness and warmth. He’s so fucking lost for her, and yet he loves how difficult she’s being, leaving him aching for her touch after every session.

The feel of her back against his front today, the swell of her breasts under the arm he pinned to her heaving chest, the curve of her neck and shoulder where she almost, _almost_ let him press his lips; he finally slips his hand inside his breeches to truly pleasure himself now, because this is what she makes of him: a desperate writhing mess having to give himself what she will not.

But as he starts to get into it, groaning and bucking into his own closed fist, his fantasy veers into dangerous territory: a place way riskier than the bedchamber, a desire holier than the shrine he'd find between her thighs. Chloe in battle armor right behind him or in front of him on Samael's back, laughing as the wind slashes at her face and turns her blond hair a tangled mess of ģolden snakes, gentle but sure hands gripping the dragon's scales for support as they fly. And after, her eyes soft and proud as she strokes Samael's wings and looks into the beast's red eyes, or his own, or both – the fire there is the same.

It’s a deep, forgotten desire, one that cannot be sated by fleeting encounters; not with mortals, not with demons. A hope he has buried at the core of his being, hardened by time like a fossilized egg left unclaimed and destined to never crack open. But it’s there. It’s there begging to be cradled in someone’s hands and Lucifer isn’t sure he can stop the avalanche anymore. He’s not even sure he wants to.

He comes more from the pull of his longing than the one of his hand, almost silently, face scrunched up as his lips part slightly around a suppressed moan. He cleans his hand with the fabric of slacks he will have to give to be washed anyway, and grips the edge of the vanity with both now, his chest rising and falling.

He’s never felt like this before. He’s never wanted this with anyone before. And it’s scary.

Slowly, he opens his eyes again to take in his flushed, sweaty chest. Blinking to get back to reality, he strokes one hand over one side of his face, trying to calm himself down. Something comes in contact with his palm when it brushes under his chin, and he frowns.

He looks down to stare at it and there, slick and glossy and standing out from his pale skin, he finds something quite unexpected.

Blood.

Fascinated, he lifts his hand to his eye-level to inspect it further. With the index finger of the other, he swipes up the viscous substance, making sure he’s not mistaken. He knows how blood feels and smells, but where does this come from? Did he hurt her by accident despite using wooden knives? He'll have to ask and, if that’s the case, apologize.

Then, his head tilts to the side. Lucifer leans his face closer to the mirror, and that’s when he sees it: a small cut under his chin, hidden by his stubble. The blood there is already drying, after dripping that single drop of liquid impossibility on his hand. He must have been so focused on her, that he didn’t even notice the sting.

Finally, he understands, and smiles.

“Well, would you look at that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who are missing our dear boy Samael, know that next chapter we'll finally get to see him up close! Plus a bit more information on Lucifer's past... Hope everyone is safe and well in these dark times, and thank you for reading as always.


	5. Samael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer does some research on his newfound vulnerability, Chloe makes an eye-opening encounter, and a new arrival shakes things up at court.

Mazikeen watches Lucifer pace back and forth from one shelved wall of his library to the other. Old leather books and scrolls are scattered on every available surface, both on desks and on the floor. The angel looks manic and excited in that way he used to get at the news of impending battle, before the intervals between one and the next became too long and boredom started to settle in at court.

Well, she wishes this was about war. At least she would partake in his enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe it,” Lucifer mumbles to himself as he digs a ditch across the room, retracing his steps again and again as he rakes a hand through his hair. “I've only ever read about it in old Enochian texts! For once, I'm actually glad Amenadiel shoved them down my throat! But I didn’t think-”

“Remind me why this makes you so damn happy, again?” Mazikeen asks him with a sigh, her legs crossed on top of a desk she managed to clear enough to fit them. Not that she would care about stomping her boots on these useless pieces of paper, but Lucifer is peculiar that way, and she knows he would throw one of his hissy fits. Honestly, it’s already a wonder he doesn’t complain about the state of his hair every time he comes back from his dragon rides.

“Maze, don’t you get it?” Lucifer rounds on her suddenly, eyes wide – he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and not for fun reasons. “Chloe- she is _changing_ me! It’s called The Myth of Self-Actualization: a theory that says angels can transform in nature or appearance in response to external stimuli. It was never demonstrated, so we consider it a fairytale. But what if it isn’t? What if Chloe is exactly that for me, somehow?”

He taps his index finger on his lips, considering, then lights up like a Lilim in a knife shop and resumes his frantic pacing.

“I should have known something was up the moment my power didn’t work on her. Or maybe it's just because she's the first human I spend a lot of time with? I might be the first in a while to do that, or maybe ever – perhaps that’s why it was never proven! After all, my lot has looked down on humans for millennia, while I-”

“While you enjoy fucking them and being fucked by them every chance you get, yes, I know that. So what, they’ve been rubbing off on you and she’s the spear that broke the dragon's back? What transformation are we talking about here? You're telling me you'll develop _feelings_ and dream of having _babies_?”

The angel’s face hardens at her words. Maze actually misses seeing fire in his eyes – he’s way too contained these days, and it can’t be good.

“If your sole purpose here is mockery, Mazikeen, I suggest you leave,” the Dragon Prince tells her through gritted teeth.

The Lilim raises her hands in surrender, but keeps the smirk on her face. She stretches her arms back and uses them to support her head, settling more comfortably into the chair. “All I'm saying is, I don’t see what good is going to come from this. You bled from the touch of a _common_ blade. If for whatever reason her presence makes you weak, shouldn’t you get rid of her instead of _improving her fighting skills_?”

Lucifer shoots her a glare, but ignores her question altogether. “You’re missing my bloody point entirely,” he admonishes her. “What do I care about being vulnerable here, in my court, surrounded by thick walls and guards? If the scrolls are correct, it won’t be so once I'm in flight, far away from her. No, no, no, Maze, the point is… if my body can _change_, it means that I… that maybe _they_ could…”

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to connect the dots, or maybe simply unable to finish the sentence. Once she understands, Mazikeen’s face falls, and for a moment, she’s back there once more.

_“Father, I beg you, please-”_

_“You made your choice, Lucifer, and I have made mine. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions.”_

_“Father,” – a different, deeper voice – “please, reconsider. You know she wouldn’t want this.”_

_“Well, she’s gone, isn’t she? And it’s_ his _fault. Now get on with it, we have somewhere to be.”_

For all the pain she’s used to, the memory knocks the breath out of her. Mazikeen tries not to show it.

“You really think so?” she asks, quietly. She knows this whole reasoning will only lead Lucifer to further misery.

“Well, why not?” her master replies, but he sounds like a human child now, petulant and disappointed, unable to understand why some things simply can’t go the way he wants them to. But they can’t, because for all the magic that keeps the world alive, no warlock has yet found a way to change the past.

“Do it then,” Mazikeen challenges him, finally dropping her feet back on the floor. “Show me, right now.”

She’s fine with being drastic, cruel, even, if it will spare Lucifer one illusion too many. At her urging, his jaw works around words that struggle to come out, his fists tight at his sides. He looks away from her, staring at a random point in space with unjustified fascination.

“I don’t know how it works,” he admits, almost ashamed. “Scholars and historians are really vague on this particular matter. I don’t think what happened to me ever happened to anyone else of my kind.”

Despite her recent worries about him going soft, Maze allows herself to feel for him. Loyalty compels her to want his wellbeing, even when this means saying words she never thought she’d say. Her blood boils at the thought, but since this seems to be so important to him…

“Maybe you should ask your father.”

Lucifer flinches, and just like that, there is pure hatred on his face – young, and ancient, and burning, burning, burning to never go extinguished. A haunting sight, almost beautiful in its tragedy.

“You know I don’t go visit him,” he replies in a low, dangerous tone, most probably directed at King Hashem more than at her. Mazikeen doesn’t check on that royal dick either – there are lesser demons assigned to the job, ironically enough, and very fittingly, too: the very same creatures His Majesty the Father of Angels always despised and demeaned, tasked with ensuring his continued captivity.

She makes sure to show all her disgust for that wrinkled old bird when she comments, “Yeah, which is why I don’t understand why you keep him here in the first place. I _told_ you: just deliver him to them, possibly dead or one piece at a time! If he can’t even be of use to you, why do you torment your-”

“We're done here,” Lucifer cuts her off abruptly. His eyes stare at the floor as he crouches down to start collecting the pieces of parchment and tomes he scattered about everywhere, hands frantic and uncoordinated. Mazikeen closes her fists around the armrests of her chair at his tone, but tries to keep her own anger at bay.

She hates doing this. Hates that she has to be the one waving a peace offering in front of his face, despite him being the one slowly pulling away from her these days. He never invited her back into his bed after she basically climbed in his lap and had her way with him (for a bit, at least), and Mazikeen doesn’t like showing him she has any issue with it. She doesn’t.

It isn’t about sex, not really. Well, of course sex is fun, and the Firebringer has made an art of it. But she can always go have it with someone else, preferably of her kind. In fact, she does. For all his fury, at the end of the day Lucifer lacks the viciousness of demons: no matter how hard he tries to be harsh, he’ll never be one of them.

Maze swallows down her pride and stands up to walk toward him. Lucifer is now picking up handfuls of paper from the desk opposite to where she was sitting, giving his back to her.

“Come ride with me, my Lord,” she urges heatedly as she approaches, using the title to sweeten her request. _Honey, not vinegar_, as he often says – a philosophy that is an authentic enigma for Mazikeen’s species, but she’s starting to get it. “Let’s take Lilith and Samael and disappear for a while, like in the good old days. We can go wherever we- wherever _you_ desire. Forget about him, about _her_, about everything.”

She reaches forward and touches Lucifer’s shoulder. He flinches away and turns abruptly, his face a mask of coldness.

“I have to go change for the training session with the Commander,” he simply says, no emotion in his tone, completely unbothered by her appeal. So much for fucking trying.

Maze’s blood boils again, but this time her current ruler is the cause. For a moment there, she’d thought that maybe Chloe didn’t really matter to him; that Lucifer was just hoping to exploit this mysterious effect the human has on him to experiment with his abilities for his own benefit. But why spend more time with that weakling when her presence in the castle is enough?

And not just that – how dare he refuse _her_ for a mortal? How dare he remind her that they’re not equals when this person he barely knows has already weaseled her way into his good graces, a walking, talking threat he is willingly exposing himself to? How dare he turn away from the call of a fellow dragonrider to teach _Mazikeen’s_ ways to a _human_?

When venom crawls up her throat, she lets it spill free.

“Aw, so you can go cry really hard on her shoulder?” she pouts exaggeratedly, mimicking a tear running down her cheek with the tip of her index finger.

Lucifer lifts himself off the edge of the desk and towers over her, eyes ablaze with fire. “_You will not speak to me this way,_” he growls, shaking from the effort not to get any closer.

Well, there it is. That’s something, at least. Mazikeen holds the fiery stare in defiance, scowling.

“Same goes for _you_, my Lord,” she declares in a low whisper, before turning around and storming out of the room.

~🔥~

Chloe must have done something wrong to deserve this, she thinks. Contemplating the existence of a higher justice makes her at least feel like there might be some meaning behind it, but deep down she knows she’s fooling herself.

The simple truth, ugly and terribly mundane, is that today Lucifer didn’t show up at the palace gate as usual, so she decided to walk all the way up to his quarters to check on him. Not one of her best ideas.

Wine from overturned cups is dripping from the edge of the table in the corner. Remnants of food dot the bed and the floor, mostly seeds from many different types of fruit. The sheets are in total disarray, and the candlestick usually on the low table next to the bed is now on the floor, the wax melted in a puddle and sticking to the marble. Weird, unfamiliar smells she presumes are to associate with mind-altering substances, herbs and flowers faintly drift in the room, forcing the maids currently at work there to push the curtains aside and let the outside air cleanse the space.

With the prince and his dragon absent, Chloe takes the opportunity to escape this uncomfortable sight. She walks to the much safer balcony, where signs of the revelry are way less evident, only to find Ella there. If the woman has picked up on how Chloe is trying to avoid the proof of what Lucifer has been up to, she doesn’t comment on it, sticking to a simple “Hi” in greeting as she sweeps the floor with a broom.

But why _is_ Chloe avoiding it, anyway? It’s not like she’s jealous. It’s not like she has any _right_ to be jealous. It’s not like it’s any of her business.

And regardless of that, avoiding it turns out to be easier said than done, especially when she can’t help but pick up… whatever is on the floor at her feet.

“Uhm, here, let me…” Ella trails off awkwardly as she retrieves the impossibly tight and revealing piece of clothing from Chloe’s grasp, taking in her deep frown. The red, semi-transparent fabric jingles to the sound of the little golden bells dangling from the lower hem of the garment, no doubt typical of some exotic dance that later involved removing the item to make _very_ different sounds.

What was the owner of the dress wearing when she left, then? Other than a smile, that is.

Ella stuffs it in the bag she’s holding and slaps one hand against the other to signal her satisfaction, prompting Chloe to chuckle lightly.

“How’s the training going, by the way?” Ella asks her then, clearly trying to distract her. It was Chloe’s decision to share the information with her, but with the promise to keep it a secret from the rest of the castle staff, to prevent the City Watch from overhearing eventual court gossip about it.

“Really well,” Chloe replies, stroking the hilt of her sword to ground herself. She remembers Lucifer’s chest pressed against her back, his breath on the skin of her neck. His lips almost touching her for the first time, and that little choked off sound he made as her fingers gripped his hair to pull him closer.

“Yeees, I can see that.” Ella elbows her lightly, shaking her out of her memories, before making a show of complaining about her elbow coming in contact with the hard surface of Chloe’s plate armor, rubbing at it with a scowl.

Chloe laughs at her and then at herself, suddenly sheepish, and looks up at the sky to gather her thoughts. Like the day of her arrival, a few dragons fly in lazy circles around the Dragonfort, some so high up that they only look like distant black points to her. She loses herself following one for a while, a closer one whose shape and color are more distinguishable: a beautiful mother-of-pearl shade, its scales like thousands of moving seashells.

She is so distracted that when Ella lets out a scream, she has no idea why.

She looks back down with a start, now clutching tightly at the hilt for comfort, just as Lucifer’s gigantic black dragon loudly lands in front of them. Chloe and Ella take a step back almost at the same time, pressing their backs against the stone balustrade. The dragon’s tail disappears from view behind its wings only to make itself known behind _them_, its long body coiling around the Prince’s Tower.

Chloe watches in absolute wonder, unable to tear her gaze away, as the beast crouches as low as it can go, pressing its rumbling, fire-breathing belly to the floor. She can feel the heat under her soles, and imagines it to be the same as standing near the crater of one of the fire mountains that line the distant shore of the continent, some buried in the middle of the Babilon Sea.

Samael – though she struggles to assign a pet name to something so unsettling – lifts one of its wings and tilts its body to the side until Lucifer can swing off the saddle attached around the creature and make his way down. The dragonlord uses the scales for support like the nooks and crevices of a mountain side, then lands upright and straightens the fabric of his doublet – dark purple today, with sapphires arranged in the shape of two spread dragon wings on his chest.

Samael regains its balance by using the clawed thumb of the wing like a front leg, since it doesn't have any. The bat-like appendages create two arches at its sides, before the animal tucks them close and assumes a (sort of) nesting position. Thin strips of smoke drift up in the air from the spaces between its teeth, as black as the two long horns protruding backwards from its head. Its eyes are as red as Chloe remembers from her quick glance from inside Lucifer’s bedchamber, before she quite literally ran from the room.

She’s pretty sure she’s never felt so small in her life, so helpless. This beast wouldn’t even need to chew her: judging by the length of its snout, she would just slip straight between its jaws and down its snake-like throat. Yet Lucifer… oh, Lucifer.

Chloe gets it now, what it is that makes him distinctly not human more than anything else – because in fairness, so far he’s been so human-like to almost be deceiving, desire mind trick notwithstanding.

It’s not the immortality of the angels. It’s not the convincing power of his eyes. It’s not the superior strength she’s well aware he has (but rarely uses to “keep her in shape”). It’s not the feathery wings that must be hidden somewhere, always invisible to the human eye for reasons unknown (do they not deserve to gaze upon them, maybe?).

No, it’s this. This bond only two creatures born to roam the skies can form.

The way he trails his fingers along the dragon’s wing as he walks around it, without any hint of fear or worry. The way he scratches at the spot where neck becomes shoulder, his hand caressing a seemingly more tender strip of flesh between the scales in a way that makes Samael emit a close-mouthed screech of, she assumes, satisfaction and delight. The way his movements then follow the jagged line of the dragon’s jaw all the way to the tip of its nose, before pressing his own forehead between Samael’s flaring nostrils until the creature leans forward and lightly bumps its head against his.

This beast could burn cities to the ground. There is a good chance it already has. Yet now… now Chloe feels slightly less scared than before, and the realization is terrifying in itself for its recklessness.

“Ladies!” the angel erupts in a jovial greeting, clapping his hands together once his back is to the dragon.

Behind him, Samael closes even further into as much of a tight ball as it can muster and shuts its gleaming eyes, ready to doze off. The position reminds Chloe of the symbol adorning her dark breastplate: a red dragon whose tail creates a circle, the even line interspersed with rays to make it look like the titular star of Lucifer’s House.

“You’re late,” she states dumbly, trying not to let her annoyance show. Lucifer can do as he pleases at night, but when he’s due to join her to follow on a lead (which isn’t even every day because of his court audiences), he shouldn’t keep her waiting. It has absolutely nothing to do with the reason he slept late or… didn’t sleep at all.

“Oh, apologies, Commander,” he replies, raking a hand through his fascinatingly curling hair. The raven locks stick up in all directions because of the wind, some caught in the holes of the silver circlet around his head. “I must have gotten carried away last night with those belly dancers from the City of Sighs. Mazikeen and I had a disagreement of sorts, and I find that a good way to loosen up is-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Chloe cuts him off, interrupting his rambling before the mental picture becomes too detailed.

“Right,” Lucifer says almost shyly – a jarring contrast with the confident dragonrider of a moment ago. Then his gaze focuses on her intently: Chloe thinks she feels something there, a spark that wasn’t in his eyes before, and squirms under the intensity.

“I'm going to… go now…” Ella announces, quickly gathering her supplies. The fact that she must have noticed something too is a dangerous thing to contemplate.

Lucifer watches Ella leave. Chloe watches Lucifer. When their eyes meet again, an awkward silence settles between them – as much silence as possible with an animal the size of a small hill snoring behind them. Which, now that she thinks about it…

“So, help me understand: you were _already_ late, but still decided to go on a morning ride?”

For some reason, her question fills Lucifer with renewed confidence – a clear indication of a mistake she must have made.

“The poor one felt neglected,” he explains, a new glimmer of playfulness in his dark eyes. “He gets _jealous_, you see. Would you happen to be familiar with that feeling, Commander?”

Chloe straightens her back, fingers tight around the sword's hilt. Has she been gripping it this whole time?

“Jealousy is weakness,” she comments coldly, her jaw set in a hard line. She expects a joke, a smug comeback to keep teasing her; instead Lucifer’s smile turns tender at her words, almost reverent.

“Well, that is the last thing I would ever accuse you of,” he says, praising her without a hint of mockery, and why does his validation feel so good? Why does it _matter_?

Silence falls again like a thick fog, only broken by the voices and noises of the servants still cleaning up inside. In the background, Lucifer’s dragon snores as softly as its nature allows, but when it suddenly shifts in its sleep Chloe finally remembers that they both have somewhere else to be.

“We should-”

“Would you like to-”

They both laugh, Lucifer scratching the back of his head with one hand.

“You first,” Chloe concedes. She watches him fidget for a moment, turning the black dragonbone ring around his middle finger.

“Would you like to… pet him?” he asks her, as hopeful as a child – the centuries have done nothing to harden the disarmingly boyish quality of his features, and as Chloe’s defenses falter at his eagerness, she knows that in the future she’ll probably blame this very moment.

Despite his shyness, they are in his element now, and this time she can't slide a blade against his throat to put distance between them and pretend to be in control. She should refuse and ask him to follow her out, she knows it: basic common sense dictates it. But this is not one of his scandalous propositions, and it’s the second time now that he hints at how he would like her to do this.

Chloe is scared of what it might mean, to him. Maybe even to her.

She nods.

His smile is infectious, and beautiful, and dangerous because of it. In a daze, Chloe lets herself be led by the elbow: she doesn’t even register that Lucifer’s hand is around her arm, too focused on what she just agreed to.

“Won’t it mind?” she tries, swallowing. “It’s sleeping. Maybe we should-”

“He won’t mind, because _I_ don’t,” Lucifer reassures her. A pause. “Chloe, do you trust me?”

The use of her name is a blow she can’t ignore, a hit below the belt, just as much as the question itself.

Does she? _Should_ she?

Yes. No.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Lucifer steps behind her as he once did to trap her with his knives, but this time, there is no cheekiness in his demeanor. The whole act feels almost sacred, and it probably is. The angel gently wraps his hand around Chloe’s armored wrist from the side and guides her to reach forward, until her gloved palm is hovering right in front of the sleeping dragon’s nose. Then he lets go, leaving her the right to decide when she’s ready to proceed.

In the future, Chloe _will_ blame this moment, and establish with uttermost certainty that the day she touched a dragon for the first time was also the day she fell in love with Lucifer of House Morningstar.

~🔥~

Lucifer won’t let Dromos spoil his newfound good mood, he decides as he looks at the demon awkwardly standing in the middle of his solar while he’s trying to enjoy his dinner. The prince rolls the wine in his cup thoughtfully, the liquid spiked with milk of the poppy for that additional pleasant buzz – a human would be reduced to a pile of clumsy, uncoordinated limbs, but in his case, that would require impossibly high dosages. He’s tried.

“Yes?” he asks in a bored tone, waving his free hand in the air. He hasn’t forgotten Dromos' whip raised in the air on its way to harm Chloe and her child, and his current relationship with the guard is frail.

The way Beatrice stiffened at the demon's entrance certainly did not help, but the Commander-spawn is now scowling at the creature from the side of the table as if trying to incinerate him on the spot, and _this_ is sort of helping. With her unicorn-decorated light blue doublet and the silk ribbons wrapped at the end of her twin braids, the last thing she should look like is threatening… and yet.

Goodness, the girl is so fierce she might actually find a way to shoot fire from her eyes. She definitely took after her mother, because only a dimwit would have ever left a woman like Chloe, he feels. Well, luckily for Lucifer, certainly, but he would love to have a talk with that douche at least once in his life, maybe even punch him for leaving her with a child to take care of. Unexpected burdens are not a concern he has to worry about with humans, but still, pull the stick out of the honey tree if you’re not ready to be stung by the bees.

“The new head of the serving staff is here, Your Grace. You told me you'd want to greet him before he settles in.”

“Right, that,” Lucifer suddenly remembers, nodding in understanding. “Such a shame to see our dear Chief Monroe leave us. Sick parents, what a bloody nuisance – here’s hoping you’ll never have to find out how much, offspring. Go ahead then, Dromos, send the lad in.”

Dromos gives a decisive, over-enthusiastic nod of his head and leaves the room to fetch the man in question. He was recommended by Olivia herself in the letter she sent from her village, announcing she would have to unexpectedly stay there after assessing her mother’s poor condition. That is, if Lucifer remembers correctly. To be honest, he doesn’t pay a lot of attention to these matters, and was simply glad she already had a replacement in mind.

The door opens and closes again. The man now in front of him is broad-shouldered and serious-looking, evidently fit if his arms and the way they strain under the confines of his tunic are anything to go by. Lucifer would have pictured him more as a farmer, but then again, most villagers leave that life of hardship for one of servitude, because of the better pay and less tiring workload.

“It’s a great honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” the man greets him after lowering his head as it’s customary. “I can’t wait to be in your service.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lucifer acknowledges. There isn’t much more to say as far as he’s concerned – this was mostly an act of courtesy, a formal welcome to show at least a bit of interest. He puts down the wine cup and claps his hands together.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. You must be eager to get started, and you have my blessing to do so. Go on then, off you pop.”

“If it’s not a problem, Your Grace, I still need a few days to be free of my previous engagement. I am only having my possessions moved in here for now. Dear Olivia assured me the staff would be able to function on its own for a brief amount of time.”

Lucifer shrugs, confident that it must be so. “Very well, then. You’ll get started when you'll get started. But try not to leave them hanging for too long, eh? Chop chop.”

The man’s piercing eyes crinkle as a smile splits his round face. “Certainly, Your Majesty, you have nothing to worry about. Thank you,” he says before turning to leave.

It’s only when he’s almost at the door that Lucifer slaps his forehead to chastise himself for his stupidity.

“Bollocks, why am I so distracted these days?” he asks himself, although he’s perfectly aware of the answer. “I didn’t even ask you what your name is.”

Was it not mentioned in the letter, or did he just forget? Probably the second one.

The new head of staff turns around, hand hovering in front of the door. He looks amused, but not offended.

“Call me Marcus,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought things were going well, didn’t you? Ha, got you there. Final notes about this chapter:  
~ my thanks to the lovely Arlome, who helped me pick a name for “King God”;  
~ to envision him better, Samael (and all dragons in the fic) is technically a wyvern: two hindlegs, no front legs, hooked thumbs at the end of the wings that are used to crawl on the ground. GoT fans (and non fans, if you want to Google him) can basically imagine him as Daenerys Targaryen’s black dragon, Drogon.
> 
> A little tease from next chapter: _“I heard it’s someone’s birthday today. Did you enjoy yourself, Commander?”_ 😉


	6. The Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A specific case brings Chloe and Lucifer even closer, and Chloe celebrates her birthday out at the market before receiving an unexpected surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start, check out this awesome set of sketches the super talented ZeeLinn made for this fic, with scenes from Chapter 1 and 5! You can find it on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ZeeLinn/status/1242110593269526528?s=19) and [Tumblr](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/613392968491089920/hey-hey-hey-guys-have-you-seen-the-dragonrider-au). Go give her some love!
> 
> Oh, and when at some point in this chapter there will be music, just know I imagined the song from that scene in _Tangled_ where Rapunzel and Flynn dance in the town ❤ Off you go!

Chloe entrusts the guilty cook to the grey, scaled hands of a demon of the City Watch, who shows way less finesse than she would have in dragging the murderous woman away. The tavern where the deed occurred stands behind them, a legacy the victim’s son, whom they briefly suspected, will make sure to carry on.

“I'm glad it wasn’t him,” Chloe comments as she and Lucifer start to walk away, merging with the moving crowd along the side of the road to avoid the carts and horses rushing by. “It’s always harder to swallow when the bad guy is a family member.”

Lucifer is uncharacteristically pensive next to her. Then again, he has been for the whole duration of this particular investigation, especially when he convinced himself that Junior was the one who killed his father to seize his establishment. His relationship with his own father, who for some reason seems to have abdicated in his favor, is clearly complicated, and Chloe isn’t sure it’s her place to inquire about it.

“I’m just glad we managed to stop that ungrateful, poisonous witch before she could burn the whole bloody place down,” Lucifer mutters, clearly still upset. “Though I would be happier if she hadn’t ruined one of my favorite attires when she so gracelessly spilled her guts on me.”

Chloe has to suppress a laugh, which becomes even more difficult when he glares at her, offended. Despite his efforts to mingle, Lucifer is so blatantly _aristocratic_ that it’s almost ridiculous, but Chloe doesn’t know whether it comes from the innate superiority of his status, his species, or a vanity that is entirely his.

“Maybe you should just wear something more… ordinary. You know, blend in,” she suggests, knowing full well that the advice will annoy him.

At this point, she revels in the teasing as much as he does, if not more. Because away from his dragon, from the proof of everything he is, she is the one leading, and he is the one with his arm outstretched toward the unknown, waiting for her to guide him. Chloe is no dragonrider, but when they have their feet on the ground, the reins are in her hands.

Around them, the city thrums with life as humans paint the dark stones of alleys and buildings with their colorful energy, with their resolve to live day in and day out as loudly and flamboyantly as they can. The place itself is a shell, as austere and stern as the Dragonfort, but people are clearly determined to make the best of it.

As expected, the dragonlord scoffs in disbelief at her words. “And deprive my faithful subjects of all _this_?” he asks, gesturing at himself with one hand as they walk. “Commander, I never thought you could be this cruel. Think of the _people_.”

Chloe laughs and rolls her eyes. Conversation with him is ridiculously easy, and entirely too amusing. She knows this is what was missing from her work, before. This sense of… companionship. And if she tries hard enough, she can convince herself it’s all she needs from him.

Just to keep toying with him, she says, “And anyway, _I_ should be the one worrying about any place crumbling down on my head. Not all of us have been blessed with that lucky condition called immortality, you know.”

“Right,” Lucifer answers quietly, “y-yeah, you’re right.”

Chloe stops to look at him, forcing him to stop as well.

“Is something the matter?”

The prince seems surprised by the question, but he hides it quickly. “Everything is fine, Commander.”

Didn’t he once say that he never lies? Well, so much for that.

Before she can think of something to say, music reaches her ears from a side alley. A lively, happy tune, mandolins and flutes filling the air with their notes. She suddenly remembers how much Lucifer loves music, and how much it pains him that his demonic court can’t appreciate it.

“Let’s go,” she tells him. She nods in the direction of the alley before swiftly slipping between two people to walk toward the source of the melody, knowing he will follow.

And he does. Of course he does.

A crowd has gathered around the musicians, clapping to the rhythm, leaving enough space in the middle of the road for people to dance if they feel like it. There are children twirling by themselves or helped by their mothers' hands, young kids spinning in circles with their arms locked around each other’s, and couples embracing as they let the joy of the moment carry them on not always graceful feet, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Well, it shouldn’t.

People part for them, as usual, but the stares of confusion and surprise are a thing of the past now. It’s a given at this point: the Dragon Prince and the City Guard, freeing the city from evil. It became a fairytale people seem to like telling and witnessing, an unusual sight that keeps the boredom of everyday life at bay. An endearing affair that, Chloe reckons, also helps Lucifer’s subjects to see him in a different, more ordinary light, taking him off an unreachable pedestal. She’s not sure he’s fully aware of it, or maybe it was part of his intent all along.

She steals a glance at him, only to find him staring at the dancers with fascination and sadness. He soaks every step and laugh like a sponge, every twirl of a skirt, every hand being clutched by another as a new couple joins the celebration. His eyes can’t seem to decide what to settle on, as if overwhelmed by too many new sensations and sights. He is the tallest, best dressed man in the crowd, yet he’s so clearly out of his depth that Chloe feels a cold grip squeeze her heart.

The words leave her mouth before she can stop them.

“Do you want to dance?”

She expects a jest, a _My, my, Commander, I thought you’d never ask_. Instead, Lucifer looks extremely uncomfortable, until he eventually says, “I… don’t know how to.”

Chloe blinks. “But… I mean, you are royalty. I thought…”

She stops and thinks back on her early explorations of the palace, on her quiet surprise at how not grand it is, and realizes it clearly isn’t _that_ kind of palace.

“You’re thinking of _human_ royalty, my dear. Angels don’t have time for silly things like dancing. Dragonriding is a tricky business, you see. Training took up most of my days when I was younger,” Lucifer explains. It’s the first time he opens up this much about his past.

Chloe is at a loss, and her only way to offer comfort in these cases is sarcasm. “Feels like a waste of time to me for someone who can fly anyway.”

For some reason, it’s the wrong thing to say. As Lucifer’s jaw hardens for a moment, Chloe feels terribly inadequate to deal with… whatever this is. Whatever _he_ is. There clearly is no way to dig deeper without stepping on a bear trap, bound to cut them both with sharp, rusted teeth.

Maybe she should just stop trying. Maybe getting to really know him is a bad idea, and it’s not like it’s strictly necessary for their collaboration to work.

Lucifer looks away, back at the joyful dancers. Chloe watches his features relax under her eyes, shoulders slumping back down from their previously tense pose.

“I gather _you_ know how to dance, instead.”

It’s decent as far as peace offerings go, and Chloe accepts it, unaware of what specific angelic taboo she just touched, of what rule she might have broken. Thinking back, it was probably insulting to refer to dragonriding as a waste of time, considering the obsession bordering on worship that Lucifer’s kind reserves to it.

“Well, I manage,” she replies with a shrug. “I would embarrass myself in a court, but this seems easy enough.”

The shrugging motion makes her realize she is wearing armor, which makes her early proposition a royally stupid idea. It’s a good thing Lucifer turned it down… before.

“Come on, then. Lead the way, Commander.”

Her eyes grow wide, panicking. “To be honest, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid. Let’s just…”

“Now, now, do you need me to beg, by any chance? Is that it? ‘Cause I can certainly do that, if it’s what you’re into.”

“What? No! I-”

But she stops. She focuses on him, _really_ focuses on him and his hopeful expression, making an impossibly young face seem even younger.

_Beware of the beauty of those who came from the Heavens, for even Evil disguises itself as an angel of light. To incite lust is their nature, and to surrender to it is, sadly, ours._

Despite the ineffectiveness of Lucifer’s powers on her, is his finely tuned beauty still luring her in like a clueless bug in a spider web? Perhaps. Not to incite lust, though, not really. Hell, the problem is precisely that it’s slowly starting to incite more than that.

“Alright.”

Lucifer looks smug, but it’s hollow, a mask in place to hide the fact that he doesn’t really know how to proceed. Chloe is pretty sure they will make fools of themselves, with her clumsy in her heavy City Watch armor and him tripping and stumbling after her.

Once again, they’ll be the talk of the city, but they have a recent victory to be happy about, so she decides she can live with it. She has rarely had the luxury to be this carefree in her life.

She gestures for him to follow her away from the crowd and into the space where people are dancing. Once Lucifer is standing in front of her, she grabs him by the upper arms and positions one at her hip and the other in the air, bent at an angle next to her head. He stands there like a statue, comically still as he awaits further instructions, and once again, Chloe can’t help but be thrilled at the way he lets her be in charge.

Emboldened, she takes the hand waiting for hers and sneaks her other one down to settle at his hip, mirroring him. Their bodies are not touching, and the armor and gauntlet prevent her from truly feeling his palms, but the fabric of his doublet is not as thick as she expected and the proximity of his skin underneath is unmistakable.

The absurd thing is that they have been closer, pressed together chest to back in the heat of sparring, but he was teasing her, and she was teasing him, and there is none of that now. They are surrounded by people, yet the whole act is more intimate.

She nods to signal that they should start, then moves her right foot forward, hoping he’ll understand that he has to move his left one back by association. He does. The motion repeats itself, on one side and then the other, and they start spinning although at a slower pace than the rest. Chloe’s movements are stilted, the impediment of her attire evident, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind, too focused on not stepping on her toes (as heavily covered as they are).

“I don’t know what I was worried about!” he chuckles after a while as they pick up the pace. “Of course I'd be good at this, as I am at everyth-”

Their acquired speed leads him to stumble, forcing Chloe to squeeze his hip to ground him. She arches an eyebrow at him and quips, “You were saying?”

Lucifer laughs, shaking his head. “Perhaps it’s not my fault. Perhaps you’re just a terrible teacher, Commander.”

“Pretty sure you’re just a terrible apprentice. You’re as stiff as a log, and I'm the one with a breastplate.”

“Now that’s a word I like. A literal plate of breasts.”

And just like that, the teasing resumes, taking them both back to a familiar territory. The sparring, now that Chloe thinks about it, never ends: they just use words instead of blades outside of training, and they can both be just as sneaky with them.

“You are such a child. I can’t believe you are… wait, how old are you, again?”

“One tends to lose count when there is no end in sight, I'm afraid. But we’re talking thousands, for sure.”

To hear it stated so plainly is quite jarring, even though Chloe had imagined it to be something like that. What was the world like when he was born? What will it be like another few thousands years from now under his unchanging eyes?

“Did I shock you, darling? I thought you had thicker skin than this.”

Chloe glares at him as they spin, growing confident as their banter distracts her from what they’re doing, the steps turning natural.

“You didn’t _shock_ me. It just strengthens my belief that you definitely shouldn’t be as childish as you are,” she shoots back, not bothering to hide her grin.

The one on Lucifer’s face is just as delighted as he says, “But you love it, and we both know it.”

This time she is the one to stumble, and him the one to catch her. His enthusiasm in doing so leads him to fully wrap his arm around her waist, forcing them closer. Chloe is glad for the metal barrier separating her from the heat of his chest, because it’s way worse than feeling him at her back.

“Careful, Commander. You’re lucky I was there to catch you. What would you do without me, I wonder?”

Chloe wants him to stop talking. To literally shut his mouth. She knows what the best way would be, but she doesn’t dare, _cannot_ dare. Not here in public, not ever. This isn’t what she came here for, some sordid affair to give the servants something else to talk about. She came here to work, to deliver justice, to keep her daughter safe.

This was not the plan. This _dance_ was not the plan.

“I'm sure I'd manage,” she snaps, more harshly than intended. It strikes Lucifer like a blow, and he pulls back, freeing her of his pressing, solid warmth.

“I have no doubt about that,” he replies in a serious tone, the hint of an apology in his eyes that never makes it to his lips. His hands are gone, and they are both left awkwardly standing among the restless dancers laughing around them.

“We should head back,” Chloe says, to save them both.

Lucifer nods, and that’s exactly what they do – silently, each lost in thought.

~🔥~

Chloe wakes to the sound and feeling of Trixie bouncing up and down on the bed they share. Ella and a few other maids sleeping in the same common room also stir from their slumber: Chloe can see them glare out of the corner of her eye, or try to block the girl’s laughter with their hands over their ears or their heads under the pillows.

“Mom, wake up! It’s your birthday, we need to celebrate! Mom! _Mom!_”

“Aw, happy birthday, Chloe!” Ella joins in as she sits up on her bed, all annoyance forgotten. The same can’t be said about the other women, who mutter curses under their breaths and turn the other way with a roll of their eyes. Sometimes, Chloe has the feeling demons might have actually been more welcoming.

She's still bouncing from the force of Trixie’s jumping next to her as she replies, “Thank you, monkey, and thank you, Ella, but really, it’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it is!” Ella objects. Trixie finally decides to stop and snuggle against her mother’s side now that she got her to wake up and acknowledge the event. “What did you use to do in your village to celebrate?”

When her mother was still at home, Chloe would indulge her by letting the woman's imagination run wild: Penelope would get a poorly trained tailor to sew a bad imitation of a princess dress for her, the fabric rough and itchy and wrong, and her father would contribute with a crown made of twigs and leaves, which was actually a nice touch.

Chloe would twirl and sing and dance for her mother, ignoring how much she hated the uncomfortable garment, how red and sensitive her skin would become as a result; ignoring the fact that she’d rather hold a sword than the hem of a dress, and wear a helmet instead of any crown.

After her mother left, the work became too much for John to have time to worry about the anniversary of his daughter’s birth, but Chloe didn’t really mind. They would be in the fields the whole day, and go home exhausted together, and her dad would then surprise her with something he bought from the market the day before: knickknacks, sweets, small toys of carved wood.

Chloe smiles to herself. She still misses him so much. “Work,” she replies, much to Ella’s disappointment, “we would work, eat together and just… be.”

“That can’t be right,” her new friend comments, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, you have _me_ now! Just wait and see! Oh, you should have told me in advance though! I would have decorated the servants’ hall with flowers and-”

“Ella, there really is no need-”

“We could hire dancers maybe? Are there _male_ belly dancers? I should ask His Majesty, he would know! I bet he'd be happy to help!”

Chloe has no doubts about that. She also doesn’t doubt that Ella might actually go ask him. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“That won’t be necessary, and besides, I don’t think a prince would concern himself with organizing anyone’s birthday celebration, not even his own.”

Ella arches an eyebrow, giving her a pointed look. “Woman, we both know you are more than just _anyone_ to him.”

“No, we don’t,” Chloe denies as convincingly as she can. “He just likes the way the work gives meaning to his days. He was bored before, that’s all.”

It would be dangerous to give Lucifer’s attentions more importance than they probably have. His clear appreciation for her company comes from his desire to feel less detached from the world outside the gilded cage he lives in. It’s nothing.

And if she’s been dreaming of flying in her sleep, it’s only because her mind is conjuring silly fantasies after she touched Samael on the balcony. Nothing more than that.

“Why don’t we go to the market, mom?” Trixie intervenes, lifting herself up on one elbow. “It's your day off as well, and I never get out of here! I want to explore the city! This way we can buy you something pretty!”

“I love the way you think, girl.” Ella beams. “The Chief still hasn’t come back from her family visit, so sneaking out for a few hours won’t be a problem.”

“Wait, I forgot to tell you! Olivia is not coming back. Lucifer hired someone new, and I think he’s starting today,” Trixie reveals, leaving them surprised by the news.

As royal cupbearer, she is bound to listen in on private conversations, but apparently isn’t very good at sharing the information she gathers unless the subject randomly pops up in a conversation. She would make a terrible spy, that’s for sure.

Chloe thinks for a moment about what her daughter just said. Not that Monroe ever showed any great deal of affection for those under her, but… why did the woman leave without even saying goodbye, pretending she would just be gone for a few days? Did something happen to her _while_ she was away? How was it possible to find a replacement this quickly? Did she plan this but decide not to let anyone know?

How strange. Then again, maybe some people just hate goodbyes.

“That’s unfortunate,” Ella reasons. “I doubt a new steward will be inclined to let us leave on his first day.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Chloe smiles, but deep down in her chest, an ember of disappointment slowly languishes. It would have been fun, and it’s true that unlike her, her daughter never gets out of the palace. Plus a breath of fresh air and a bit of distance from her unlikely partner might have helped her clear her head.

The bell that signals the start of the servants' work day rings. They all get dressed (Chloe in her normal clothes) and walk together to the common hall, where the members of staff have breakfast before attending to their respective duties. And just as predicted by Trixie, an unknown man is standing at the end of the long table, waiting for everyone to arrive.

“Good morning, everyone,” he greets once the meeting can begin. “My name is Marcus Pierce, and I’m your new head of staff, since Olivia Monroe will not be able to resume her position at the palace. I'm sure everyone here already knows what to do, so I'll mostly observe for today, and see if there is room for improvement. We want the castle to be like an army, organized and efficient.”

That’s… not the kind of association Chloe would have made, considering Lucifer also has a _real_ army, but fine. Around her, she can see that the news is mostly met with annoyance and indifference from the men in the room, while many female servants are in the process of gushing about this Marcus; even Ella is giving the man a long look, examining him from head to toe like a piece of meat.

Chloe frowns. Sure, he seems to have nice arms, but… at least at first glance, she doesn’t get the charm.

She doesn’t fail to realize that her main issue is that he's too ordinary, and that once upon a time, ordinary was her standard for male companions. Nothing too serious after Dan – no one special enough to introduce to Trixie. But all of them, by all accounts, ordinary.

All of them, by all accounts, human.

She comes back to the present in time to notice that Ella has raised her hand and is now waving her arm in the air to attract the man’s attention, bouncing up and down to be seen in light of her short stature.

“Ella, what are you doing?” Chloe whispers under her breath, concerned. At least before establishing what kind of person this Marcus is, it’s probably better for Ella to mingle with the rest and keep her head low.

Ella ignores her. Marcus finally notices. “Yes, Miss…”

“Lopez. Ella Lopez.”

“What can I do for you, Ella Lopez?”

Chloe’s attempts to elbow the maid in the ribs prove useless. “I was wondering if you could allow me and my little friend here to leave for a couple of hours today. It’s Chloe’s birthday, you see, and we want to buy her something from the city market.”

Marcus Pierce focuses his gaze on Chloe for the first time. She feels slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but holds the stare as fiercely as she can. If punishment for such a request is what awaits, she hopes it will be in the form of a light reproach and nothing more, otherwise she will have to step up and defend Trixie and Ella, even without a sword at her hip.

“Of course,” the man smiles, surprising her. “Why don’t you take the whole day off instead? It’s my understanding that the little one serves at the prince’s table, so I'll arrange for someone else to take her place for the day. I hope you enjoy yourself, Chloe.”

He says her name as if he knew it before, with the certainty of an old friend. Chloe doesn’t know how to respond to such kindness, to this blatant attempt at sudden familiarity. Does he crave to be accepted by his underlings so much that he’s purposefully showing more gentleness than he'd like? In the kind of world she lives in, Chloe is wary of men as a general rule.

Still, there’s no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“I most certainly will,” she tells him, speaking for the very first time. “Thank you for allowing them to accompany me.”

The smile Marcus gives her is warm and looks sincere. Maybe she should learn to just give people a chance, Chloe thinks.

~🔥~

The city market is as lively as she remembers from the day she first arrived. It spreads outwards from the main square into large and narrow streets alike, similar to the bazaars Chloe used to visit as a child to help her father sell the products of their work when a harvest was particularly generous. The difference, of course, is in the size, and in the much wider variety of fruits, fabrics and spices available.

Next to her, Ella is almost as bubbly and excited as Trixie, making Chloe feel like a mother of two instead of one. She lets their cheerfulness infect her, and relaxes at the prospect of a whole day not spent interrogating, chasing, tackling, punching, slashing; a whole day not spent under Lucifer’s amused or proud gaze at her skills as he sinfully bites into an apple from a stall and lets her do the heavy lifting because _we wouldn’t want any dirt to cling to this, Commander, it’s silk!_

“White lion pelts! Manticore spines! Gryphon claws! Centaur hooves! Mammoth tusks! Come see the wonders of the animal kingdom and get yourself a trophy!” a seller of (most probably) fakes intones, effectively attracting a small, naïve crowd. Trixie makes a grabbing motion toward a long necklace of lizard tails, or something, until Chloe clutches at the back of her collar and drags her away.

“Healing herbs! Poppy seeds! Sourleaf for all your pains and aches!” another merchant bellows further along the road, surrounded by bowls containing leaves, twigs and pastes and small bottles and vials full of multicolored liquids. “Shade of the evening to talk to your loved ones from beyond the grave! Fertility potions for your lady's barren womb! Love elixirs to bind your beloved to your will forever!”

“What nonsense,” Chloe scoffs, shaking her head. “Do people really fall for these scams?”

“No, no, no, Chlo, some of this stuff actually works!” Ella replies – oh, right, she has a passion for alchemy. “The medicinal effect of some plants and fungi has been widely demonstrated! Did you know silverseal is good for loose bowels? Take too much and it will poison you, though. Kind of drastic for a side effect, if you ask me.”

“No lies there,” Chloe agrees, horrified. She eyes a woman purchasing a green, foul-smelling concoction and wonders what she thinks it’s for, and if it might actually work like Ella said.

They finally enter the section of the market dedicated to jewelry and clothing. Chloe has never been attracted to such things beyond what she strictly needs, but there is nothing else she feels could work as a present. She might as well let Ella and Trixie find something _they_ like and play along for their happiness. She’s content with spending a day out with them: this is the real gift.

In the back of her mind, she senses an absence, of a taller, broader figure walking next to them, commenting and trying everything with the curiosity of a naughty child. And Chloe would feel like a mother of _three_, at that point, but she finds she wouldn’t mind so much.

_Get it together, idiot. He’s a prince, for goodness' sake. What would he find here that he doesn’t already have?_

“How about this one?” Ella asks her, holding a ring with a white translucent stone shaped like a flower. An imitation of something much more valuable, of course, but this is what people can afford here. Chloe shrugs.

“That, my dear, comes from the basilisk-infested jungles of Le Shem, the Golden Empire of the East!” the jewelry seller approaches them to try and convince them. His slicked back hair and overgrown mustache give him a sleazy appearance, only made worse by his ridiculous attempts at overpricing. “Where princes live in palaces of solid gold and feast on meat powdered with jade and pearls, precisely like this one!”

“Cool!” Trixie pipes up, sporting a huge grin.

“I'm… pretty sure that isn’t the case,” Chloe objects, snatching the ring from Ella’s grip to put it back among the others. “Thank you anyway.”

“Wait, I remember you!” A second merchant steps closer to the first behind the stall, as the customer he just served walks away and into the crowd. “You are the woman who arrived at court with her child and struck a deal with the Dragon Prince!”

Chloe smiles tiredly at the man, his face plumper and his dark blond hair cut short. “That would be me,” she confirms, hoping the conversation will end here.

The merchant looks at her with a different kind of focus, eyes lingering on the hollow between her breasts and the curve of her hips. His face distorts into a mocking, challenging grin.

“So, has he fucked you yet or what?”

“Hey!” Trixie bristles, “No one talks to my mom like that! Take it back, you _ape_!”

Chloe catches her daughter just in time as she tries to climb over the jewelry stall and launch herself at the man's neck. To be honest, she would actually enjoy such a scene, but despite her training Trixie is still a child and the man would easily hurt her.

“Ella, why don’t you take Trixie to see those parrots over there, mm? Let me know if they really talk?”

Trixie scowls at her blatant trick, but Ella nods vigorously, her eyes wide and worried. “Let’s go, little warrior,” she says, taking Trixie’s hand before leading her away.

Chloe turns back to the seller and stares at him in disgust. “How about you tell me your name, kind sir, and I shall report your question to the prince himself to get your answer.”

She feels exhilaratingly powerful when the other merchant visibly panicks. “Ignore him, sweetheart, he didn’t mean to-”

“What, you think she’s scaring me, _Malcolm_?” the rude one cuts him off, clearly adding his name on purpose. Then he gives an exaggerated flourish and continues, “Anthony Paolucci, at your service. Now go give our names to that pompous prick and let’s see what happens.”

At his use of the plural, Malcolm’s hands twitch nervously. “My friend is just joking, darling! We have _great_ respect for His Majesty, yes! And we _definitely_ know it’s best not to offend him, _don’t we_?” he finishes, pointedly looking at Anthony.

Paolucci rolls his eyes. “What, you scared of that overgrown lizard? _The Black Dread_, I heard it called – I mean, seriously. We all know the man would never use it inside the city: all that thing ever does here is _sleep_.”

Malcolm rakes a hand through his oily hair, then looks around as if making sure no one will hear. The market is so crowded and bursting with noise that the conversation is thankfully not attracting too much attention, so he eventually speaks.

“Well, that might be so, but what he did to his own father…”

Chloe pales. “What did he-”

“You should stop believing all the silly little tales whores tell you to fight their boredom, Mal,” Anthony intervenes, cutting her question short. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t have it in him. After all, he’s not even a _real_ angel anymore.”

“Right, and that isn’t a silly little tale, is it? You’re such an idiot.”

“Insult me all you want. Why do you think he hides behind that hellish beast like a child with his mother’s skirts? He'd be nothing without it.”

“I- I should go,” Chloe stammers, all her previous anger forgotten. She quickly turns around and weaves her way through the crowd, leaving the two sellers gaping behind her. She spots Ella and Trixie making noises at a bright red and green parrot inside a metal cage and reaches them.

“Can we go back now?” she blurts out, suddenly on edge. Trixie pouts, and Ella looks at her with a disappointed but sympathetic expression.

“Come on, Chlo, don’t let those scumbags rain on your parade! We can still have fun, and we haven’t found your present yet!”

Chloe sighs in exasperation. Somehow she feels drained of the strength necessary to argue with a force of nature such as Ella.

“Fine,” she concludes, letting her daughter take her hand to lead her to the next stall down the side of the road.

By the time they’re back inside the castle grounds, night is starting to settle over the land like a thin, dark veil. Chloe has gained a new pair of boots that Trixie defined as lame before her mother somehow convinced her of their usefulness. _Things don’t need to be shiny to have value, monkey._ And in addition to them, a whole new weight of doubts, worries and questions.

_What he did to his own father…_

_After all, he’s not even a real angel anymore._

Chloe stuffs the boots under the bed and then lies down to stare at the ceiling, arms behind her head. Ella stayed behind to meet a friend (after being convinced not to throw the celebration she was genuinely hoping to put in place), and Trixie went off to play hide and seek with some kitchen boy. With the other servants busy, Chloe has the room to herself.

She has no clue what the second sentence might mean. Lucifer is _definitely_ not human – she has seen his hypnotic power in action, even though it didn’t work on her, and everyone knows only angels can ride dragons as effortlessly as he does. She has not failed to notice that, in the outer yards of the castle, the Lilim of the Dragon Army attach bridles and reins to their mounts and use whips to keep them tamed, while he does none of those things.

What about his father, then? She doesn’t have a lot of information about that, either. “The king is rather… inconvenienced at the moment,” Lucifer said from the throne when Trixie pointed out that it was, in fact, his dad’s. And after the tavern case and the way it affected him, Chloe made inquiries, though not by asking him directly.

The truth everyone seems to accept as a given, at least according to the nosy servants who were eager to spill the beans to her, is that the King of the Angels is sick, suffering from a rare celestial disease that won’t kill him, but that will force him in bed for the rest of his immortal life.

But is it the _real_ truth? Or has he secretly been dead this whole time? Has Chloe failed to ask the right questions, to notice the right things?

Did Lucifer lie after all, despite his pledge to always be honest? Or is it all speculation, fueled by the mysteriously prolonged absence of the king? After all, commoners love to make up stories of betrayals and intrigue, to cast slander upon those richer and luckier and more powerful than them.

Maybe the king simply lives somewhere else. Maybe that seller wanted to scare her after realizing she wouldn’t buy anything from his stall anyway.

Maybe Chloe thinks too much. Maybe she doesn’t think enough.

After an indefinite amount of time, the young maid called Joan appears at the door and gives a sigh of relief. “Oh, there you are. You should go upstairs, the prince is asking for you.”

Chloe swallows thickly and stands up. She feels unsettled, confused, and she doesn’t like it.

She finds Lucifer on the balcony, where he seems to spend a lot of his free time, with no dragon in sight. He’s dressed in black tonight, dark against the darkness of the sky behind him, and the pattern of flames on his chest is made of small, golden brown topaz stones. The wavy circlet around his head, of course, is specifically made of gold instead of silver in order to be matching.

Dancing mishap seemingly forgotten, he spots her and beams.

“I heard it’s someone’s birthday today,” he tells her as she joins him at the balustrade. Chloe is surprised for a moment, but she quickly assumes someone else must have told him to justify Trixie’s absence from his side.

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you enjoy yourself, Commander?” Lucifer inquires, his hip against the stone barrier to better observe her, and Chloe finds that his warm gaze is already melting her insecurities away.

She knows him. Despite everything, she _trusts_ him. What’s the word of a couple of strangers against _that_?

“I… for a while, yes, I did,” she admits truthfully. “Then an unpleasant encounter at the market spoiled the day, but it’s alright.”

“Oh?” Lucifer stirs, arching an eyebrow. “Do you want me to do something about it? Just say the word and I'll take care of it.”

Is it protectiveness, desire for justice and rightful punishment, or bloodlust? Chloe can’t be sure. In any case, despite her threat to report the rude seller, she decides it’s not worth it. And that despite her longing for the truth, she’s not ready to burst the bubble just yet, especially over something that might be entirely in her head – a paranoia further deepened by how much she’s been trying not to fall for Lucifer.

“Don’t worry about it, I got over it. It’s nothing,” she reassures him. “So, is this why you summoned me here? To wish me?”

Lucifer buries his hand inside one of his pockets and seems to be fishing for something. His movements are suddenly jerky and nervous.

“Yes,” he replies while he keeps searching, “and to give… you… this.”

When his hand emerges from his pocket, there is a necklace dangling from his fingers: a silver chain with a pointed black pendant, like the tip of an arrow. The material looks like the stone adorning his ring, smooth and dark and polished. Before she can inquire about what it is, another thought occurs to her.

“How did you find the time to get this for me?”

Lucifer smiles with a mixture of fondness and mischief Chloe fully understands only when he speaks again. “Your spawn told me about it a week ago, and every day since. Wouldn’t stop pestering me until I told her I would think of something. That one knows how to get her way, that much is clear. Just like her mother, I dare say. You should be proud.”

Which is certainly an improvement from Lucifer’s very first assessment of Trixie’s character, but…

“Oh. I'm sorry she bothered you about it, then. You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble just to shut her up. I'll make sure to have a few words with her tonight.”

Disappointed (and confused at her own disappointment), Chloe turns to leave. Lucifer’s free hand shoots forward to grasp her wrist, stopping her. She startles at the unexpected contact, and he lets go.

“No, darling, you misunderstand me. Yes, your offspring insisted but… I'm glad she did. And I knew I wanted to give you something the first time she told me.”

“Oh.”

Chloe goes back to her spot near the balustrade and lets him drop the necklace on her outstretched hand. She lifts it closer to her face to inspect it. “Is it a…”

“A dragon tooth, yes,” Lucifer confirms her hypothesis. “Well, a dragonling's, to be precise. They’re like lucky charms to us. They… protect. Not- not that you need it, of course! But I… I'd like to think it will keep you safe, Commander.”

The emotion and honesty in his voice can’t be ignored. He’s not lying. On this matter, on the things he says about her, Chloe knows he is sincere. She wonders if it’s enough – she wants it to be.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

She picks up the necklace from her palm to wear it around her neck, but Lucifer lifts his hand to stop her. “Here, let me,” he whispers, sounding almost scared by his own proposition.

Chloe’s heartbeat is loud in her ears as his fingers brush the back of her neck to secure the gift around it. The pendant comes to rest above the hollow between her breasts, on top of the loose blouse she’s wearing. Lucifer drops one of his hands to his side but lets the other one linger, cupping the side of her neck to brush his thumb over her jawline.

His dark gaze flickers down to her lips. Chloe leans forward without realizing it, until she does.

When she closes the distance between them too quickly and hugs him lightly, she can feel Lucifer’s disappointment in his muscles, but also how tentative he’s trying to be as he slowly reciprocates. She has the feeling kissing comes easier than hugging to someone like him.

“This really means a lot to me,” she whispers in his ear. “I will cherish it, truly.”

The Dragon Prince's arms tighten around her, Chloe’s face now tucked under his chin, a warm feeling spreading in her chest.

No matter who he is or what he’s done, in this moment, she is safe.

And if tomorrow she’ll change her mind, at least she’ll have this hug to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ASOIAF readers probably recognized my wink to Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon The Conqueror’s dragon (I love you), while the description of Le Shem (a Biblical name which means “jewel”) is actually a quote from _Histories & Lore_, an extended release of Game of Thrones S6, in which it refers to the kingdom of Yi Ti.
> 
> Hope you liked my version of the bullet necklace! 😍 and yes, I know Chloe is being difficult, but I have a feeling you will like next chapter! 😉


	7. A Taste of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Marcus Pierce tries to befriend her, Lucifer being called to battle forces Chloe to deal with her feelings for the Dragon Prince.

Unlike his predecessor, Marcus insists on enjoying his meals with the rest of the staff instead of having them in the privacy of his quarters. He sits at the head of the table and makes small talk, or gives his contribution when others ask for it. He is, all things considered, more friendly than the Chief, although for a while Chloe can’t really say she knows him (and frankly, she’s fine with things staying this way).

That is, until the morning Ella is absent from Chloe’s side at breakfast because of a light fever and Marcus takes the opportunity to sit on the chair that is usually hers, acting nonchalant. Chloe casts a quick glance in his direction and smiles in greeting, before focusing on the bread and cheese on her plate. On her other side, Trixie eats happily, quietly going through the illustrations of the history book her tutor gave her.

“Good morning,” Marcus says, looking at Chloe intently.

“Good morning,” she replies politely.

The pause that follows leads her to believe the conversation won’t go any further than this, but she quickly finds out she’s mistaken when Marcus speaks again.

“I've been meaning to ask you if you enjoyed your day at the market. Is that where that comes from?”

He points at the dragontooth necklace with his index finger, before picking up his fork to take a bite of his meal. Chloe finds herself touching the pendant out of habit, then she catches herself and lets its weight rest against her chest.

“The market was fine, although I'd say Ella and Trixie had more fun than me,” she replies slowly. “But no, this isn’t from there. Luci- His Majesty gave it to me.”

The slip-up doesn’t go unnoticed. Chloe mentally curses at herself for it.

“I've been told he’s grown quite fond of you,” Marcus comments in a tone she struggles to place. “Would you agree?”

Chloe swallows. Warning bells ring in her head, telling her to be careful. Being the prince’s “partner” or whatever she is can be a double-edged sword, if someone like Marcus were to decide that such a position was… not fairly granted or undeserved. He doesn’t have any authority over her or the City Watch, it’s true, but Trixie could easily become the target of retaliation while Chloe is out and about.

“It was just a reward for my- well, _our_ very high solving rate,” she answers carefully. “Demons are unmatched at finding people when they know who to look for, but… it seems they don’t do well at figuring out _who_ that person should be.”

Marcus chuckles, amused. “How right you are. They can be very useful creatures but they do require a lot of patience and… training in the human ways. To be honest, it’s a wonder this city is still standing.”

Chloe can’t help but think about what Mazikeen would say: “At best, it’s humans who need to be trained in the demon ways!” – much like the hot-tempered warrior is doing with Trixie. A decision that still keeps Chloe up at night, sometimes, but despite the distrust Maze harbors for her, somehow Trixie seems to have slithered her way into the fighter’s black heart.

“How did you end up here?” she asks Marcus, trying to steer the conversation toward safer shores. Her feelings regarding Lucifer right now are a muddled mess, and the last thing she needs is having to justify them to others.

Marcus Pierce shrugs. “Oh, I like to move every few years, to keep life interesting. The world is so big, after all. I was working in a nobleman's household in the Jade City, near Monroe's village, when she wrote to me to say she wanted to recommend me as her replacement.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows. “So she had planned to leave after all. How did you two know each other?”

Marcus seems disappointed by how her focus has shifted again, away from his story. Is he trying to get… close to her? Chloe isn’t sure she can deal with another man’s advances right now. She shouldn’t have let Lucifer's attentions affect her to begin with, but now she’s in too deep to turn back.

“We’re just old friends. Our parents knew each other, the usual,” Marcus replies stiffly.

“But why did she leave? Why didn’t she say anything to anyone?” Chloe insists. In truth, she could just ask Lucifer, but she’s been… avoiding him lately, telling him she's on patrol duty with no specific cases for him to lend his talents to, and that she’ll let him know as soon as a new one drops.

Which was the truth, in the beginning. But now, it’s a lie. A lie that might be helping her getting some distance from him, but that doesn’t erase how scared she is of the intensity of that moment on the balcony; of the fact that she can’t get herself to stop wearing his gift, and of what it might mean.

“Her mother is very sick. I'm sure she informed the prince in time. Maybe she didn’t think there was any need to share the news with others, or maybe she only realized the gravity of the situation when she went to see her. Either way, I'd say she was never fond of sentimentality.”

Which, to be fair, strikes Chloe as true. She gives a silent nod and turns back to her food. But once again, her treacherous hand nervously brushes over the pendant as if making sure it’s there, before she tucks it inside her blouse to elude the temptation.

They both eat in silence for a while, as many other conversations keep the room alive with a low but lively buzz of indecipherable noise.

“Are you alright, Chloe?” Marcus asks her then, his body slightly tilted in her direction, his eyes observing her. “Did something happen between you and His Grace?”

Chloe’s fingers tighten around the fork as if meaning to break it in half, her teeth grinding together.

“There is nothing between me and His Grace,” she snaps, probably more harshly than necessary. “And nothing inappropriate happened, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Well, so much for not making any new enemies. She’s failing spectacularly at this, too. She’s so on edge that she’s almost vibrating on the spot.

She’s surprised when Marcus, instead of getting angry at her tone, lifts his hands and looks at her apologetically. “Oh, no, forgive me if I gave you this impression! I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort,” he reassures her. “I was just… concerned for you. And him. You see, I think you’re really good for His Majesty, Chloe.”

Well, she’s surprised alright. “What do you mean?” she asks tentatively.

Marcus gives her a warm, soothing smile, wise in an almost uncomfortable way. “I mean that for someone like him, it’s hard to find a person to explore his more... human side, so to speak. A person to be vulnerable with, since demons only answer to shows of strength. I really believe it’s ultimately what’s best for him.”

Chloe scoffs. “You really care this much about your employer's wellbeing?”

“What can I say, it’s literally my job,” Marcus says with a wink. Chloe can’t help but chuckle, her features and posture relaxing. She suddenly feels bad for her previous reaction.

“I'm sorry for losing my temper. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about it. I'm sorry if I came across as nosey. But I hope you know you can talk to me, Chloe. As a friend, I mean. Believe me, I'm not the judgmental type.”

Has the world treated her so unkindly that she was failing to recognize a sincere offer of comfort and friendship? Does she really believe people can be kind only when they want something in return? Despite ample evidence, the answer is no.

“Thank you. I will keep that in mind,” she tells him, although she doesn’t know if he really is the right person to share her worries with or ask for help. But help in doing what? Research _on_ Lucifer?

No. Chloe might love solving mysteries when they are not about her, but she’s also great at stuffing her own doubts under a rock not to deal with them.

She knows the truth is here somewhere, hidden beyond some secret passage, buried deep in the darkness of a poorly illuminated, scream-echoing dungeon, but she’s too scared to go seek it, at least for now.

They finish their breakfast in comfortable silence. Marcus gives a few instructions as he stands up to leave the table, then turns to her to reassure her that he'll send someone to check on Ella’s health regularly throughout the day. It’s nice, a simple yet very heartwarming gesture. _He's_ nice, a simple yet very accommodating man.

Chloe is almost out the door with Trixie trailing behind her when a sound echoes from outside, from above. A deep, thunderous, prolonged note. All the people in the room stare at each other, stunned. Then it’s roars and screeches, as the dragons in the stables express their discomfort or enthusiasm at whatever it might mean.

“What is it?” she asks, turning to Marcus for an answer, her hand on Trixie’s shoulder to keep her close.

“A war horn,” Marcus replies somberly. “Someone must be coming. It means they’ll soon take off for battle.”

_No_, Chloe thinks suddenly, _it means_ he _will_.

“I need to go,” she blurts. “Trixie, go back to the room and keep Ella company.”

She briefly waits for her daughter’s nod of assent, then she’s out the door.

~🔥~

Samael’s tail beats the ground angrily, moving side to side like a snake's and forcing other dragons to keep their distance from him – well, not that they ever do any different. They are wild things, as tamed as they can be, which isn’t a lot; but they sense that he is another beast entirely, a dragon that flies with the soul of an angel propelling his wings, pulsing inside his very bones since before he even had any.

_Relax. Just a few more minutes._

Lucifer lets his squire Squee – yes, he’s aware of how the words awfully clash – attach his two curved longswords at his back, the blades crossing where two straps hold them together in the center. Their carved hilts, ready to be taken in hand with a swift motion, are works of art he specifically commissioned, swirls of feathers topped by a five-pointed star. Lux and Nox have served him well, but their weight is a somber reminder of what awaits him in the skies.

Somewhere along the way, he got tired of war. Did he ever actually want it? He knows it isn’t so. But he brought it upon his family, and when they come for him, he needs to be the rebel they see him as if he wants to come out victorious. No room for doubts, or thoughts of any kind.

No room for Chloe.

Well, the Commander already took care of that, slowly distancing herself from him. Lucifer isn’t sure why. Maybe the teasing went too far, or the dragon scared her away, or the necklace was too obvious. Or maybe _he_ is, quite simply, not worth the trouble. After all, she’s already more than decently skilled with knives and could just improve on her own, and it’s not like she needs him in the field. Well, his gift helps, but she would obviously do just as well without him.

It’s better this way, he tells himself as he finally climbs on Samael, patting his scales to keep his impatience at bay. If he keeps at it, the mortal is bound to find out more about him, _everything_ about him. And at that point, the end result would be the same. To end it now when they can both walk away from it unscathed is the wise, sensible thing to do.

How foolish of him to think he walked away from it unscathed. He let himself be vulnerable around her, and look at that, he got hurt. What a shocker.

He’s about to order the demons and their mounts to take to the sky when she arrives. Chloe’s hair is unkempt as she runs through the yard, which is an unusual sight – it’s early in the morning, so he assumes the horn blew before she could tie it up in a bun or a braid for the day. The golden locks frame her face as they did the first time he saw her, and reflect the light of the sun like dragon scales.

“Lucifer!” she shouts. “Lucifer, wait!”

From Lilith’s back, Mazikeen makes an exasperated sound. “What does she want now? Is there no getting rid of her?”

Lucifer glares at her silently and twists on the saddle to look down at Chloe. The City Guard has stopped at a safe distance from Samael’s restless wings, but is close enough to hear him if he just raises his voice enough. She is literally surrounded by dragons of all sizes, but doesn’t seem to care too much.

He finds his throat dry, when he attempts to speak, so he tries again. “Yes?” he asks, chin high as he regards her with what he hopes looks like indifference.

Chloe is panting from exertion, brushing hair away from her slightly sweaty forehead. Suddenly, it seems like she doesn’t know what to say, despite the fact that she was the one who came out here looking for him. Lucifer waits.

“Be careful up there,” Chloe tells him eventually, a sea of unspoken things in her eyes. With the hooked thumbs of his wings, Samael starts clawing at the ground like a raging bull, and she flinches, but doesn’t take a step back. Lucifer doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Careful is bloody boring, love,” he replies with bravado. The Commander’s face falls at the lack of reassurance, which leaves him angry and confused. Does she really care about him making it back? Does she care about _him_ in the first place?

Lilith screeches, the sound stopping abruptly under the crack of Mazikeen’s whip. A loathsome but necessary measure, for her kind at least. All Lucifer needs to do, instead, is think.

_Fly. Take me up there with you._

Samael spreads his wings, forcing a stunned Chloe to take several steps back. “Demons! To the sky!” Lucifer calls in Lilim, all the while looking at her. He watches her cover her eyes from the dust the dragons send in all directions as they take off, but when she lowers her arm her eyes are still tracking him and Samael as she grows smaller and smaller, as they do to her.

Lucifer stops looking down only when her frame becomes unrecognizable, when the land disappears under a bank of clouds.

For a while, they just fly. Lucifer closes his eyes and lets Samael take him where they need to go, inhaling the purer, fresher air deeply. The wind pushes his hair back and whips at his face, cold but refreshingly so. Pretty soon, it will be an inferno up here.

Above him, below him and on either side of him, a pack of Lilim-ridden dragons flies in the same direction – a multicolored spectacle of writhing scales, a parade without any music beside the flapping of wings and the occasional screech. From his right, as always, Mazikeen smiles at him, feral with anticipation; and so he lets himself return it, lets himself fall back into step with a dance that’s been going on for centuries and that no one knows how to stop.

He knows why Mazikeen is in a good mood in general, and the fact that it’s the same reason he’s unhappy twists a knife of betrayal in his guts. But he can’t afford to lose focus, not now.

When Samael senses danger in the air, Lucifer does, too. In battle, especially one so fast-paced, there is barely time to form one thought, let alone convey it; so he concentrates intensely to fuse their minds together, to make sure he can feel what the dragon is feeling as well as the other way around.

Something pokes at Samael’s consciousness. His mind is no less emotionally complex than any other creature's (the opposite, in fact), but at least in battle, it gets sharper and more singularly focused: led by the instincts of a predator, of a king of the skies who has a hard time accepting to share his kingdom even with his own kind. So Lucifer directs his now red gaze upwards, following Samael’s flicker of sensation, latching onto the dragon’s ability to perceive others from afar.

A distant but approaching glimmer of silver. Canaan.

Amenadiel.

Mazikeen can’t count on her she-dragon's eyes, but she’s attuned to Lucifer’s gestures – in this, at least, they are still on the same page. Lucifer nods in the direction he wants her to go, and she nods back, before guiding Lilith to detach herself from the pack and disappear higher into the clouds.

Lucifer generally avoids fighting Amenadiel. Not because he’s scared of him, oh, never that. He just doesn’t like seeing his face, and there is _another_ face he'd gladly see instead, if only to punch it as hard as he can.

Because what Michael did can’t be forgotten. What Michael did can’t be forgiven.

And Samael knows it, too, because now more than ever, he _is_ Lucifer. He is his anger, his resentment, his hatred; Lucifer can feel the flames twisting and writhing in the dragon's belly, can revel in the way the wind caresses his leathery wings like a lover.

It’s the only way left for him to really, truly, fly.

~🔥~

Chloe runs back toward the palace the moment she spots the first few dragons flying back in the direction of the city. The sun is starting to set, shades of pink and orange and red in the sky. Her restlessness has made her sloppy throughout the day, but watching out for market thieves isn’t really that hard to begin with, and if some managed to slip past her, she’ll survive.

The fact that people couldn’t stop talking about the battle didn’t help either, although yes, battles on dragonback usually last this long, it seems. They involve quite a bit of chasing and a lot of strategy, and sometimes, when injuries are too severe, they move on land for the riders to continue while their tired mounts recover.

But Lucifer always comes back, people say. No one has ever thrown him off his saddle. None of his… siblings. Chloe hears the word for the first time, and finally understands that this has been a family feud all along, not just a war among creatures of the same species.

_What he did to his own father…_

But she doesn’t have time, not now. She just wants to make sure he’s okay, then she’ll go back to her whirlwind of questions and doubts. She just… she needs him to be okay, it’s that simple, really.

The only familiar face greeting her in the yard – well, more like scowling at her – is Mazikeen’s as the demon climbs off the back of her grey dragon. The Lilim’s face is covered in sweat and soot and blood, mostly coming from a cut near her already scarred eyebrow and another on her lower lip. Clad in sturdier leather than usual, the captain of Lucifer's Dragon Army has two metal plates adorning her shoulders, and her hair is tied in three tight braids starting at her forehead.

Chloe watches her spit blood on the cobblestones and tries not to assume it’s personal, although it’s quite hard given the demon’s current glare in her direction.

“Where is he?” she demands to know, as a group of lesser demons leads the dragon away by the reins with a series of very colorful words of encouragement. Mazikeen looks confused for a split second, a terrifying thing to see on someone who is always so disarmingly confident.

“He’s not on his balcony?” she asks, looking up at the Prince’s Tower to find out the answer. “Then he fell behind, but he’s on his way. And believe me, he won’t want any company once he’s back.”

She probably means _Chloe’s_ company. Chloe has tried to avoid confrontation this whole time, but the veiled implication makes her bristle. She gets that Mazikeen has been with him for longer, but Chloe and Lucifer’s recent collaboration and friendship should at least count for something.

“Why?”

Mazikeen takes off the top part of her attire, removing the sleeves and collar to reveal her usual tight bustier. She gives it to one of the inferior members of the Princeguard – the ones taking care of the dragon stables and armory – without even looking at the creature, challenging eyes fixed on Chloe.

“Because he’s hurt. And when he’s hurt, you don’t want to be in his line of sight.”

Chloe feels a sudden pain in the middle of her chest. Mazikeen looks and sounds calm, and yet… _He’s hurt._ Something primal twists inside her at the thought. Someone hurt him. Someone… like him. A member of his own family, a being of his kind with the power to harm him.

Which means he could have died.

Until a couple of months ago, Chloe would never have imagined to be relieved by the sound of dragon wings approaching. Yet when she looks up and recognizes Samael slowly making its descent toward the tower, that’s exactly how she feels. Even the dragon itself looks tired though, its flying stance dejected, as if weary of its own weight.

“I'm going to check on him,” Chloe declares, turning around to run inside the castle. A firm grip around her armored wrist suddenly pins her to the spot.

“You think you’re what he needs, don’t you?” Mazikeen whispers in a low growl. “Well, let me break it down to you once and for all: you are not. And especially now, the best thing you can do for him is leave him alone.”

Chloe tries to snatch her wrist away, to no avail. She briefly considers unsheating her sword, but decides against it. Instead, she lets her anger boil over and turn to vicious words spilling out of her mouth.

“Are you in love with him, Mazikeen? Is that it?”

The more sensible part of her would slap her for being this upfront with someone who could easily kill her, and would do so gladly. Chloe’s fighting skills aside, Lucifer is the only thing standing between Mazikeen and her untimely demise, and he’s clearly in no condition to put his foot down at the moment. Chloe finds she’s past caring.

“Oh, please,” Mazikeen scoffs, finally releasing Chloe’s wrist with a shove. “You humans and your obsession with _feelings_. It is my duty to protect him, even from you if necessary. You’re no good for him.”

Well, people seem to have very clear opinions on this particular matter today, and highly contrasting ones. Why does no one wonder if _Lucifer_ is good for her? If Lucifer is… good?

And why does Chloe care so much about him when she’s not sure of the answer?

“Well, I don’t need your permission. And if you hurt me right now, he won’t like it,” she replies, using the only leverage she can think of if she wants to avoid a physical confrontation. It works. Mazikeen’s scowl deepens, but it’s clear she can’t disagree with the statement.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. He’ll kick you out himself, and if he doesn’t, then he’s even more stupid than I thought. I need a pint of ale now, and possibly a good fuck,” the demon declares, before bumping her shoulder against Chloe’s to walk past her. Chloe reckons that last resolution will come true soon enough, and without the Lilim even washing the blood off her face.

She runs back into the Dragonfort, past guards who don’t spare a second glance at her now, past the throne room where everything started and down the stairs to her quarters to change into something more comfortable than her armor.

Then she’s up the stairs that lead to the private part of the palace, and by the time she’s at the door of Lucifer’s bedchamber, she’s panting from exertion and anxiety. She takes a deep breath, braces herself, and slowly pushes her way inside before closing the door behind her.

Lucifer is sitting on the edge of the bed opposite from her, his back to the door. He hasn’t noticed her slipping in, too busy fumbling with something in front of him that Chloe can’t see. She silently makes her way around him, slowly noticing more details of his attire now that he’s not sitting on top of a breathing mountain.

The armor he’s wearing is made of leather like Mazikeen's, the material overlapping in uneven layers resembling scales, but bigger and almost leaf-shaped: round on one side and pointed on the other. On the bed next to him, she can see the pieces he has already removed: the curved paddings that covered his shoulders and the sections protecting his arms, four separate parts in total that left his elbows exposed for maximum mobility. Along these ones, the leather actually extends past its usually flat surface to host iron spikes jutting upward, very similar to those that can be found on dragon tails.

On the mattress also sits his crown, the third so far, different from the heavy one used for court audiences and the thin, delicate one he wears every day. The black dragonbone circlet, more than crown, was worn more snugly around his head with two extremities flowing down over his temples and past his ears, stopping halfway down his cheeks. In the front, it has a blood-red ruby – let it never be said that the Dragon Prince is not fashionable, she assumes, and battle is no exception. Finally, against the nearest wall, two bloodied swords lie upright, although precariously balanced.

When Chloe looks back at Lucifer, she notices that the lower part of his armor is instead very simple: leather trousers, a single piece of clothing, fashioned to look like an expanse of very small scales, like those of a snake. The issue the angel seems to be having, in fact, is with what is left of the _top_ half.

All along one side of his chest, a series of tightly fastened straps prevents the garment from being pried open unless with clear effort. An effort Lucifer is trying but failing to put in, because there is a gash on his opposite shoulder, down under his collarbone, in the gap left exposed between the shoulder padding and the breast piece. Fashion, it seems, is not a good priority to have when war is involved, but good luck telling him.

“Bloody- _fucking_ hell!” he curses under his breath, fingers trembling as they skim over the straps. He needs the arm on his injured side, but when he tries to lift it, he flinches in pain and lets it hang limply.

“Let me,” Chloe blurts out, already reaching forward as she steps into his field of vision.

Lucifer startles at the sight of her, his eyes wide. Chloe stops there, her hand awkwardly hovering in mid-air.

“What are you doing here?” the dragonlord whispers, his voice rough. His face is in a similar state as Mazikeen’s, hair unkempt and matted with sweat and blood, heavy black make-up (heavier than usual) smudged around his eyes. Under the soot and grime, a purple bruise sits angrily on his cheek, and a long cut is visible through his stubble from his chin to halfway along his jawline.

He looks threatening, but vulnerable at the same time. Like an injured wolf you should think twice before helping in fear of it lashing out, but that you just can’t leave to perish in the dark of the woods.

“I was worried about you,” Chloe whispers back, lowering her hand. She wants to close the distance between them to help him out of his clothes, but there is a nervous energy around him that just prevents her from doing so.

“Right,” Lucifer scoffs, as bitter as she’s ever seen him. “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”

Chloe won’t ask why: she knows the answer, knows that he has noticed her putting distance between them. But it’s not a conversation to be had right now.

“Just- let me help you,” she insists, taking a first tentative step. Lucifer follows her gaze all the way to his injury and hesitates.

“Actually-” he starts, then closes his mouth shut.

“What?”

He swallows. “Nothing.”

“Good.”

Chloe crouches between his parted legs to gently unfasten one strap at a time, starting at the top. Her mind is thankfully blank, not really registering that she’s _undressing_ him. He needs help with a practical issue, and she’s providing it: nothing more than that.

She tries to ignore the way he’s trembling, pent-up frustration coursing through his muscles. He’s looking away at a random point in space, jaw set in a hard line, fists clenched at his sides. But after a while, the silence is deafening, and she decides that maybe talking will actually help him.

“What happened?” she asks quietly, as the last strap at the bottom gives way. She’s almost sure there are tears of anger in his eyes that he’s holding back.

“Bloody tosser landed on my dragon. _My_ dragon,” Lucifer croaks, still not meeting her gaze. “And he- And I let him-”

He wipes at his cheek furiously with the hand he can lift to his face, unable to continue. Chloe gives him a moment of privacy to collect himself as she focuses on opening the breast piece to expose his chest – _No undershirt? Really? Must be nice to be immune to chafing!_ – and examine the gash. She has a basic knowledge of how to patch people up (acquired from all the times she had to do it to herself), and the cut doesn’t look as long as she first thought. It’s not a slash, it’s an entrance point.

“Did the sword go through?” she asks, delicately freeing one arm from its hole and then the other to be met with the unprecedented view of Lucifer’s chest. It’s mostly clean, just sweaty and reddened by the heat of flames, she assumes – considering how hot dragonfire burns, it could be worse. A tiny bundle of desire coils low in her belly, but she tries to suppress it.

“It did, but the skin already closed on the other side on the way back.”

Chloe won’t pretend to understand the inner workings of angelic healing, so she just nods and stands up. Without a word, she goes to fetch a bowl of water, an empty one and a cloth from behind the partition in the corner of the room – a commodity Lucifer must use to clean himself and others in... merrier circumstances. At least, she can be glad for it now.

Once she has everything, she settles back down in front of him and starts wiping at his chest, squeezing the cloth over the empty bowl to get rid of all the substances covering his skin. Lucifer flinches as she swipes it over the cut, but doesn’t complain. He’s finally looking at her now, in a deep and reverent way that makes her squirm, so Chloe decides it’s best to keep the conversation going.

“Who did this to you?” she asks as she moves to his neck and face. All the little scars and bruises she couldn’t see before blossom on his skin as the cloth reveals them, and she can’t stand it. She tries to be meticulous and clinical, but the urge to bring her other hand to his cheek is growing more and more. The urge to nurture him. To protect, oddly enough, probably the last person that needs protecting.

Only once she’s done, Lucifer replies, “Michael. My twin brother.”

The bloody tosser, she figures. Chloe wishes she didn’t have to upset him, but it’s as good an opening as any to try and understand more about what is happening.

“And what are you fighting about? You and your… family?”

Lucifer’s expression shifts immediately, closing off. For someone who wears his feelings on his face so openly, he’s actually good at guarding the secrets that lie at the heart of them. He is a mystery surrounded by legends, market rumours and castle chitchat Chloe can never trust to be true, and she’s falling for him regardless.

No, she already has, despite social rules and basic common sense and the nagging feeling that he _will_ hurt her, simply by turning his attention toward someone else or by revealing himself to be the monster Chloe hopes he is not.

“An old disagreement we never got to solve,” Lucifer answers vaguely – his customary way to avoid lying. “They left me here, went and built a new shiny city all for themselves. But now they want this one back, because of course they bloody do. Because Lucifer, the rebel, the outcast, can never have something for himself.”

He tries to stand up and get away, but grits his teeth at the jolt of pain in his shoulder and flops back down on the edge of the bed. Since for some reason the cut doesn’t seem to be healing on its own, Chloe asks him for bandages and stitching supplies and goes to retrieve them inside a cabinet behind the same partition where she found the rest.

“Well, you might think of wearing a proper coat of armor next time, and the odds might just be in your favor,” she jokes to lighten the mood, for both of their sakes.

As the needle in her hand easily pierces his skin, she wonders why it does: Lucifer has told her he’s invulnerable to human weapons (or any sort of tool, by association). Maybe it just means he can’t die from the injuries they cause him?

Finally, her attempt seems to work: for all the tension in his body, Lucifer chuckles. “I get that you don’t want me around anymore, but do you wish to have me cooked like a lamb, dear? Dragonfire might not burn me, but believe me, Commander, hot metal is not a sensible fashion choice. And so last century.”

Chloe’s brow furrows. The first part of the statement stings, but she can’t help but focus on the latter. If dragonfire doesn’t do any damage to Lucifer’s kind, contrary to common belief, what exactly is the point of riding these wretched fire-spitting creatures into battle?

“I don’t understand. What… what do you need _that_ for, then?” she asks, nodding in the general direction of Samael resting on the balcony. Should someone tend to it, too? Well, all she knows is that someone won’t be her. Who knows how grumpy a battle-weary dragon is.

Lucifer smirks, his grin cut off by the needle going through his skin one last time to stitch the cut closed. Still, he’s as smug as he can be when he replies.

“I said dragonfire doesn’t burn _me_, darling.”

Chloe blinks. “Oh.”

“Mm. Happens every few millennia. A defect of some sort, and a rather lucky one. It’s actually the reason I chose to add _Morningstar_ to my name, after an angel of the Old Age who was also like me. But as a general rule, there is nothing dragonfire can’t burn.” His face turns sad again, his gaze distant. “Not even angels.”

_Lucifer of House Morningstar, the First of His Name, the Unburnt_, Chloe suddenly remembers, nodding to herself.

“Well, that explains the name… but what about the accent?”

“What about it?”

Chloe knows he got what she means. He just wants to hear her say it, the insufferable tease. “Oh, come on. It's foreign, exotic, _different_. How come you’re the only one with it here?”

At least the conversation is amusing him: he grins like a pleased cat before answering. “Because I like it. Well, and because _people_ like it. I could use others, among the many I picked up over time, but this one seems to sway humans for some reason.”

The explanation fits with the idea that he aims to be exactly what you need him to be. That somehow, everything about him is tailored and designed. But is it, really? Or is Lucifer so starved for appreciation that he makes himself become what people want? Who is luring whom, truly?

Unsettled, Chloe ditches the needle and remaining thread in one of the bowls before picking up the pile of bandages. She wraps the strip around Lucifer’s shoulder and under his armpit a few times, then ties a knot in the back quickly, trying to ignore how close to his face the action is forcing her to be. When she's done, she resumes her crouching position and stares up at him in silence.

Her work is done. But her legs won’t move from the floor.

Lucifer fidgets under her scrutiny. The candlelight in the room emphasizes every unusual mark on his face, making it darker against his pale skin. His beauty despite it all is like a knife in Chloe’s chest. Suddenly, she can’t breathe as she looks at him.

Burnt or not, what if that angelic sword had gone through his heart? Would that kill him? And what if he'd fallen off his saddle miles away from here, somehow unable to spread his wings, and gotten lost in the wasteland, left alone to starve without ever dying?

“Thank you for this, Commander. I- I'll be fine now. You should… go.”

Chloe swallows. The bundle of desire in her belly flutters to life and crawls all the way up her throat, laying waste to her rational resolutions and fears, almost choking her before she manages to speak.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Lucifer does a double take as she leans in. He looks at her and then away before realizing what is happening and turning back toward her just in time. To be fair, Chloe feels as surprised by herself as he looks. She braces herself with her hands on his knees to kiss him, pressing her lips to his softly, quickly, like a naughty girl stealing a little peck from a boy behind a tree as they chase each other through the woods.

“_Chloe_,” Lucifer whispers her name like a prayer when she pulls back, mesmerized as his gaze lingers on her lips.

When Chloe kisses him again, this time she doesn’t stop. Her Dragon Prince tastes of ash, and fire, and blood on her tongue.

It’s delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to picture it better (admit it, you do!) [this](https://www.andracor.com/en/p/leather-armour-set-elves-black--300024) is the armor I used as inspiration for Lucifer’s, but with straps on the side instead of in the middle. My thanks for this chapter go to ZeeLinn, who gave me the idea of the double swords at Lucifer’s back, and DifferenceEngineGirl, who came up with a name for the second one.
> 
> Smut is coming, my dragonlings! 🔥


	8. Close Your Eyes, and Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Chloe get cozy between the sheets, and Trixie picks the wrong place to go play hide and seek...

Lucifer has two twin scars on his back. They are long and curved and scythe-like, the skin softer and uneven and tender. Chloe wouldn’t know for sure, though, because she can’t find the courage to touch them.

He is sleeping next to her, his head near her hip as she stares down at him from her sitting position against the headboard of his bed. His arm is slung over her thighs, his long, lean body sprawled on the sheets in the bliss of a hard-earned sleep.

Chloe never noticed them before, because she’d never seen him naked before. And now, she can’t stop looking at them.

She didn’t notice them last night, either, as he pulled her onto his lap so she could straddle him, her hands buried in his still dirty hair and his arms around her, shaking, desperate.

She didn’t notice them as he flipped her on her back to kiss down her neck and between her breasts, hesitant until Chloe herself sat up to pull her blouse over her head.

She didn’t notice them when he brushed his fingers over the necklace she was keeping hidden and voiced his surprise at the fact that she was still wearing it. _Of course I am_, Chloe replied, and pulled him down on her again.

She didn’t notice them when Lucifer tried to resume his ministrations but only managed to kiss the hollow of her throat before the pain in his shoulder let itself known again. Chloe led him to sit against the headboard, and from then on, his back disappeared from view.

_Having him inside was a revelation, a rebirth, a sacred thing. Desire pooled in his eyes and forced his mouth open in silent wonder as he looked at her moving above him, unable to do nothing more than brush locks of hair away from her face tenderly and tuck his own in the crook of her neck. And she clutched at him with all she had, but still didn’t notice, or maybe her fingers were hooked lower where his skin is pale and freckled and smooth._

Chloe cards her fingers through the angel’s hair as he sleeps, scratching at his scalp absentmindedly. Quiet humming noises bubble up from his mouth as he snuggles closer, his naked form pressing against hers. He fell asleep immediately after, and she can’t help but feel guilty: he was injured after all, and he must have been exhausted.

In part, the bandage she wrapped around his shoulder covers one of his scars, but the ravaged tissue stands out even more against the white fabric. Chloe has a terrible, terrible feeling lodged deep in her chest.

_He’s not even a real angel anymore._

Is that… where his wings are? Or where they are supposed to be? Did something happen to them, or is that how the skin should look like to somehow allow them to spring free from his back? She has no clue about any of this. But this ache she feels, this urge to protect him, is choking her now, and she has even a harder time believing he’s a monster than she did before.

Is lust clouding her judgement? Is lust all this is? Could Lucifer really be Evil disguised as an angel of light, and she the human who fell under his spell?

A particularly hard scratch earns her a soft but distinctive moan, cutting off her reasoning. In his sleep, Lucifer tightens his arm around her and wraps one leg around one of hers. Chloe feels him getting hard against the arch of her foot; with a smirk, she rubs it against him, until Lucifer is grinding his hips into her without even knowing it.

Then the prince awakes slowly, his sinful lips parted around a low groan of pleasure. He smiles up at her with that boyish innocence that is probably his most dangerous weapon, dazed and confused and drunk on life, on this, on _her_. It’s the scariest thing Chloe has ever seen in her life, and she’s touched a dragon in its sleep.

“Mm, hello there,” he mumbles, now fully aware of his own movements and of the way Chloe is encouraging them. To her surprise, though, he stops and pulls back slightly instead of continuing. If he’s caught up on the fact that she’s noticed the scars, he doesn’t comment on it, and she can’t help but wonder: is he _that_ used to people ignoring them altogether?

“Hello to you,” she greets, now scratching at the nape of his neck. The sun is coming up outside (she’s an early riser, she has to be), and she doesn't find it fair that he didn’t get enough rest after battle, so she adds, “Go back to sleep. I have tired you too much already.”

“Oh, I assure you, Commander, I am never too tired for _this_,” Lucifer replies with a suggestive roll of his hips, making her chuckle in delight.

Because in this very moment, lying boneless and sated in his bed, Chloe can pretend they are nothing more than two lovers. He’s not angelic dragon-riding and possibly murderous royalty, and she isn’t… well, she is who she is, but it’s okay.

Lucifer stops her mind from drifting when he suddenly calls her by her name, a shocking event in itself. Chloe blinks and shakes her head, then looks down to find his stare directed elsewhere, toward where Samael is now sleeping. Even through the haze, Chloe remembers the dragon promptly taking off when they started being… busy, which she finds extremely strange but in an endearing way.

“Yes?”

Lucifer slowly turns his head toward her again, the light of dawn painting his still bruised face in a warm hue. Chloe wishes it wasn’t taking so long for the marks of his suffering to go away.

“Come ride with me,” he finally says, a plea in his eyes. Chloe’s hand, now cupping his jaw, falters.

Just like that, she is reminded of who he is, of how different nature made them; of the way the sky calls to him in a way it never will to her, a little mortal with her feet safely stuck to the ground.

“Lucifer, I… you need to understand, I'm just a human. I'm not… meant for all that. And I have a child, I can’t put my life in danger just for the thrill of it. I know I do it every day, but it is necessary so that the guilty won't get away. This, on the other hand… this is too much for me.”

And speaking of her child… oh dear, Chloe is a terrible mother. She can only hope Ella took care of Trixie in the night despite her feverish state. She’ll make sure to apologize and make up for it.

As expected, Lucifer looks offended, but not at the rejection in itself. “You think I would let anything happen to you?” he asks, affronted, and Chloe is stricken by how much the implication pains him. Then he continues, “And you’re not just a human, by the way. Not to me.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but yes, I am.”

Sudden tenderness washes over his face, the sight overwhelming her. She brushes her thumb over his cheekbone, feels him lean into her touch. It all comes so natural. _Too_ natural.

“You don’t even see it, do you? You make me vulnerable, Chloe. No, more like… I make myself vulnerable around you, I think. I'm still researching on the matter, as it were. Bloody books can be very annoyingly unhelpful when they want to be.”

Chloe gapes down at him. “What- what do you mean by that?”

“Why do you think I needed stitching in the first place? Why do you think I'm still like this?” Lucifer tells her, gesturing at his face with the arm that isn’t wrapped around her. “For some reason, being in your company makes me… exposed, it seems. Weakened.”

She’s not sure she fully understands how this is even a thing, and adding this to her immunity to Lucifer’s eye magic makes her head spin, but the consequences of it are clear as day.

“And you let me stay?!” she asks him in shock. “You let me get close to you, tend to you, when the wiser thing to do would have been to send me away?”

_Especially now, the best thing you can do for him is leave him alone_. Mazikeen’s words strike her again, their real meaning now obvious. _It is my duty to protect him, even from you if necessary. He’ll kick you out himself, and if he doesn’t, then he’s even more stupid than I thought._

_“Not all of us have been blessed with that lucky condition called immortality, you know.”_

_“Right. Y-yeah, you’re right.”_

_“Just- let me help you.”_

_“Actually-"_

_“What?”_

_“Nothing.”_

And all this time, she’s been scared of being hurt by _him_. She remembers him flinching in pain, his face scrunching up under what she thought was care, when in her absence there would have been nothing to patch up in the first place. She’s been so blind, and selfish, and careless. She starts to pull away, but Lucifer tightens his grip around her.

“Yes,” he says with a heated exhale. “And I would do it again. And again. Because, well… it led to _this_.”

Chloe doesn’t know what to say. New pieces of information keep being thrown at her, but she’s sure she’s still missing half of the puzzle if not more. But if she has to commit to this, to whatever this is… she needs the rest. She watches Lucifer stare at her in confusion, observing so many emotions dance on her face.

“People say things about you,” Chloe whispers, well aware of how abruptly she’s changing the mood. “Things I… struggle with.”

And there it is, she just hurt him again. “Is that why you pushed me away, for a while?”

Chloe nods, then takes a deep breath. Out with it. “At the market, they said… they said you did something. To your father.”

She won’t subject him to unnecessary slander if she can, to the knowledge of what people say about what he is or… isn’t, anymore. That part doesn’t even matter to her. All she needs him to be is a good person. A person she could love without hating or betraying herself.

Lucifer stares at her for a long, long moment. His features hardened at the mere mention of the king. For a moment, Chloe is sure she pushed too far, but then he speaks.

“Would it suffice to know he hurt me, too? That he had it coming, but that I hate myself for it anyway?”

Chloe swallows. So, he doesn’t deny it. It sounds awful, and she’s not sure it’s enough.

“But-”

“Because I can’t- I _can’t_, Chloe. I can’t talk about it,” Lucifer cuts her off, pleading for her to understand. When her face falls, so does his, and he panicks. “I- I'll try, yes? Just... give me some time?”

She has no reason not to trust him: he’s never done her any harm. It doesn’t make it any less terrifying. If she planned on asking about the scars before, now she knows that any new revelation has to come from him.

“Sure,” she concedes with a small, tentative smile, at which Lucifer immediately relaxes. “And in return… I'll consider your flying proposition. How does that sound?”

_Consider_ being the keyword: if he can take some time, she can too. She’s already jumping into the unknown with him – maybe dragonriding should stay limited to her dreams.

Lucifer’s face splits into an almost childish smile. “It sounds wonderful. I shall find a proper way to thank you, my lady.”

She snorts. “Oh, I’m no lady.”

“Mmm, and don’t I know it,” the angel smirks. His suddenly lustful eyes rake over her naked body, no doubt remembering all the not-lady-like things she did with him, to him. “Be that as it may, I feel much inclined to show my gratitude and, well… I do have one thing in mind already.”

“You do?” Chloe asks, intrigued. Lucifer moves past her leg to settle between her parting thighs, spreading them even more with his strong, large hands. The hunger in his eyes is intoxicating.

“I very much do.”

When he lowers his head to plant an open-mouthed kiss to her sex, Chloe sighs, her legs trembling at the sudden spark of lust shooting through her. Lucifer hovers there, observing her until she can feel herself starting to squirm.

“Do you like that?” he inquires with way less confidence than she expected, almost fascinated by it, eager to be praised. Chloe distantly realizes he needs confirmation, because he can’t ask her what she _desires_ as he might have done with other lovers.

“Yes,” she nods, impatiently carding her fingers in the tangled mess that is his hair.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

“_Yes_.”

Lucifer looks starved when he dives in again, his eyes closing in bliss as he tastes her. Chloe’s head thumps back against the headboard, lips parting in awe at the delicate, almost reverent touch of his lips and tongue. Her mind feels clouded, her thoughts escape her. This is simple, and nothing is simple anymore, not with her prince-who-is-invulnerable-but-sometimes-not-really occupying an increasingly large space in her life.

And she craves it, how simple it is. She needs it.

She tightens her fingers in Lucifer’s hair to press him closer, tilting her hips up toward the heat of his mouth, and he whines at her possessiveness, softly rubbing himself against the sheets. His tongue is languid and slow and tender inside her, lazily exploring to find the spots that make her moan – and when she does, he moans with her, feeding off her pleasure.

Because as it turns out, he craves and needs it too, and there is comfort in the knowledge that he’s probably just as scared as she is – an immortal turned mortal, how unsettling must that be?

His hands slowly and blindly travel up her body to cup her breasts, roll them and squeeze them in his palms before brushing his thumbs over her nipples in insistent circles. Chloe arches up and into him with a gasp, clutching at him, riding his face in tiny stuttering movements as soft whimpers start leaving her lips.

_“Did he do that thing to you, too? The one with his tongue?”_

Is it this one? A different one? Will she just be one among many, a hunting trophy mounted on a wall? She doesn’t want to think about that right now. But the way he allowed her to be near him no matter the pain it caused him, the way he asked her to go fly with him – it must _mean_ something, and Chloe lets it be enough to soothe her worries.

Lucifer looks gorgeous between her legs – _hers_, no matter for how long; a wild thing with his pitch-black hair and flexing muscles, rippling as he moves with her, responding in kind to every twitch of her body under and around him. With no crown on his head and no dragon to ride, he’s just a man desperate to pleasure her, to please her, to make her fall apart.

One of his hands leaves her breasts for his fingers to cup her chin, to brush shakily against her lips until they part – and oh, how does he know her so well already? How does he know exactly what she needs, this stupidly handsome, frustrating, terrifying creature?

Lucifer slips two fingers in her mouth so Chloe can suck on them, then his hand is between her legs, inside her under his lips – thrusting and rubbing and claiming; she is _his_ now, too, and he will be her doom and fall and ruin.

Fuck it, let him be.

Chloe comes to the hurried sound of dragon wings flapping in the air to leave. With a breathless laugh, she thinks, _Too late_.

~🔥~

There is something wrong about Marcus.

Trixie doesn’t think much of it, at first. It starts as a generic feeling of disinterest, of mild boredom in his presence. The man goes on and on about what there is to do for the day, but Trixie only has one duty, and it mostly keeps her occupied only during meals. She knows what she has to do: pouring wine is pretty simple, really.

Then again, the old Chief Monroe used to do the same, so maybe it’s just what’s required of a person in charge. But it doesn’t stop there.

Marcus stares at her mom. A lot. Mostly when he thinks no one is watching, but Mazikeen taught her to _always_ watch, and so Trixie does. Her mother is happier these days, and Trixie pretends not to know why, pretends not to notice that she sneaks out of bed at night to magically reappear at her side a few minutes before everyone wakes up downstairs, or that some evenings she comes back so giddy and bubbly that a romantic stroll through the city is a more likely explanation than a solved murder. And Lucifer is happier, too: overall, it’s as obvious as can be.

The thing is, Marcus looks happy too, happy for _Chloe_, but in a weird, creepy way. He sits next to Trixie’s mom when they eat, now, with Trixie on the other side between her mother and Ella. And he grins every time Chloe plays with the necklace around her neck; grins in a way that sets Trixie on edge, but she has nothing to show for it, nothing to actually pinpoint _why_.

So it’s not exactly a coincidence, what happens one afternoon between her last lesson with the tutor and dinner. Since she has to find a place to hide from Will, the kitchen boy she plays hide and seek with, why not catch two birds with one stone? And so, that’s how she ends up sneaking into the private room of the head of staff after picking the lock of the door (a talent she learned from Ella, who has a surprisingly adventurous past she hasn’t even shared with her mom, which makes Trixie feel very special).

She closes the door behind her quietly, her steps soft over the stone floor. Another thing Mazikeen is teaching her: how to be silent, so as to be deadly (well, only if strictly necessary, but the silent part is still useful it seems). The room lies along the corridor that leads to the kitchen; Trixie can hear noises and voices coming from there, but knows that no one is allowed to enter. It makes the game all the more exciting, especially because Will won’t have the guts to come look for her here.

The space is furnished in a similar fashion as the female dorm where she sleeps with her mom, and with Ella in the bed right next to theirs. The difference is that all the objects here belong to one person only. There is a wardrobe in a corner, a dresser, a small desk covered in supply orders for the kitchen and a chair. The single bed is neatly made, the frame iron-cast and the covers hanging from the sides, obscuring the space underneath it.

“Mmm,” she ponders out loud, index finger to her lips, “what to do, what to do…”

But as she looks around to try and decide what to open first, she hears footsteps approaching from beyond the door, and two male voices talking. The wardrobe in the far corner looks appealing as a hiding place, but she’s scared she won’t reach it in time.

She manages to slide under the bed just as the door opens and closes, welcoming the two into the room. The space available is less than she expected though, because as it turns out, Marcus keeps a lot of… stuff, down there. Trixie finds herself awkwardly squeezed between a small chest, a wooden crate and a pile of leather-bound books, and struggles with the effort not to make a sound.

“So? What’s taking so long?” a rough, deep voice speaks up – a demon, judging by cadence and tone.

“Patience, my friend,” the other person, who is clearly Marcus, replies. “I just want to be sure. We don’t get a second shot at this, after all. Just let them get… closer, for good measure.”

The demon scoffs. Trixie thinks he might be the one Lucifer scolded in the throne room on their first day in the castle – Dromos –, but she can’t be entirely sure. Something is distracting her, some kind of weird, pulsing heat from inside the chest pressed against the nape of her neck.

“How much closer do you want them to get?” maybe-Dromos says. “He’s turned so soft, it’s disgusting. Makes me want to puke.”

Alarm bells ring inside Trixie’s head. She suppresses a gasp, tries to keep her breathing as quiet as possible. She doesn’t understand where this is going, but… it certainly doesn’t sound good.

“As I already told you and yours,” Marcus replies, his tone suddenly exasperated, “I have no way of getting proof that it can be done, not without spooking him. But if _you_ want to be the one to punch His Majesty in the face and see what happens, go ahead, be my guest. If I remember correctly, he won’t have second thoughts about feeding you to his winged beast.”

So it is Dromos, then. Is he mad at Lucifer because of what he said back then? Why is Marcus helping him? Trixie feels a wave of panic rising. Her body slides backwards of its own accord, as if trying to put more distance between her and this conversation. Silence stretches for too long: did she just get caught?

But then, definitely-Dromos speaks again.

“You think you’re so damn clever,” he sneers. “Maybe we’ll just do it on our own. What do we need _you_ for?”

Trixie hears Marcus taking a few steps forward, and assumes he’s getting right into Dromos' face. His words are heated when he says, “You know _exactly_ what you need me for. Or did you grow a soul overnight, _demon_?”

Whatever it means, it works.

“Just- speed this up. We’re getting restless. I thought someone as old as you would have been better at giving love advice.”

Marcus chuckles. “Love isn’t exactly my specialty, but I'll see what I can do. Let’s get back to our posts now before someone notices us missing.”

As soon as the two leave the room, Trixie lets out a relieved exhale. She briefly considers getting out, but realizes it’s better to wait and let them get a bit farther away. Alone again, she can’t keep ignoring the waves of heat coming from behind her, so she turns on her side and picks at the lock of the chest with the same small piece of metal she used to sneak into the room.

She fumbles for a bit, clumsy in the semi-darkness, until at last the chest opens under her hands. Lifting herself up on one elbow, her neck bent painfully under the bedframe, she peers inside to see what is emanating not only heat, but light.

It’s a horn, curved and made of something that looks like bone, but pitch-black instead of white. The light and heat she felt are coming from the letters carved along the length of it, characters of a language she can’t read, full of flourishes and artful twists and bends.

Trixie reaches out to pick it up, but thinks better of it at the last second. It almost looks like there is fire burning along the indentations, inside the thing itself. It’s… scary, although she won’t admit it if someone asks.

The creepy horn, at least, is also illuminating a few of the other things surrounding her. Thanks to its glow, Trixie manages to read the title of the first tome of the pile of books, _Blood Magic, Potions and Enchantments of the Dark Age_. She gulps. Is boring Marcus a warlock?!

That’s it. She has to go talk to her mom, immediately.

She’s just about to close the chest and push it back in its place when she feels a hand grip her ankle and yank, pulling her out from under the bed violently. Trixie screams and twists onto her back, finding herself face to face with Marcus crouching over her. He is smiling, but as usual, it doesn’t look reassuring.

“Beatrice,” he calls her by her full name, just like Lucifer, “what are you doing, sweetheart?”

Trixie pants on the floor, her heart beating wildly inside her chest. She eyes the door, but Marcus is still squeezing her ankle as he waits for an answer.

“I… I was playing hide and seek with Will,” she says truthfully. “I thought this would be a good hiding spot.”

“Indeed it is,” Marcus agrees, face scrunched in concentration. “Too bad I found you, though. Seems like you’re not that good after all.”

Trixie forces herself to smile. “Y-yeah, you’re right, you got me! Uhm, I'm sorry for sneaking in, I promise it won’t happen again. I'm going to go now.”

She tries to sit up. Marcus squeezes harder, shocking her into immobility.

“What did you see down there, Beatrice?”

“Nothing! I was just hiding, I told you!” she squirms, growing frustrated. If only she had one of Mazikeen’s knives, she would be the one showing him. Tears of anger and fear start pooling in her eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” Marcus objects, looming tall and big and broad over her – like Lucifer, but Lucifer has never been this scary. “But don’t worry, little one. All you have to do is close your eyes, and forget.”

Trixie tilts her head to the side, puzzled. All of a sudden, Marcus starts speaking in a foreign language that takes the form of a chant, low and repetitive and hypnotizing. She finds herself unable to shut it out, and her eyes start falling close as if to sleep, eyelashes fluttering as she struggles against the pull of Marcus'… spell.

Darkness takes over, scary at first, then familiar like the night.

When she opens her eyes again, she’s in the kitchen pantry, sitting among crates of fruits and vegetables. Will is snapping his fingers in front of her face, the sound loud and annoying.

“Trixie, wake up! I won! I get that it took me a while, but did you really fall asleep in here?!”

Trixie blinks up at him in confusion. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

She doesn’t remember getting in here. She remembers hiding somewhere else before this, but for the life of her, she can’t say where. All she can do is congratulate Will, let him help her to her feet, and go to the servants' hall for their early dinner before serving wine at Lucifer’s table.

Marcus smiles at her as she sits down, and she smiles back hesitantly. The adults get lost in their dull conversations and she mostly ignores them, trying and trying and trying to figure out what’s missing from her mind. Every now and then between one attempt and the next, she hears Marcus give his opinion about the importance of trust and taking risks and following your instincts, and sees her mom nodding in agreement and gratitude.

Still, Trixie can’t help her uneasiness around him.

There is something wrong about Marcus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to clear the air and make sure you knew Marcus is evil because you guys were _clearly_ wondering 😂 Oh well, glad that's settled!


	9. Nature Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer thoroughly enjoys his time with the Commander, but is it enough to forget the one thing he misses the most?

They settle into a routine Lucifer gets used to insanely quickly, but he barely has time to dwell on it, barely has the presence of mind to chastise himself for how ridiculously he’s fallen for Chloe – because of all the ways there are to fall, this is by far the sweetest and the least painful; he would know.

She always puts her daughter to bed first – always a dutiful mother, his Commander – and then she slips into his bedchamber quietly, as stealthily as she did that night before she kissed him. Oh, sometimes he does hear her, but he still pretends he doesn’t, just to see what she will do to surprise him; just to revel in the way she sneakily slides up to him from behind, almost like an assassin doing her dirty work in the dead of night – ironically enough, she’d be the only one able to succeed, and he'd let her.

Lucifer is still shocked by that first kiss whenever he thinks about it. He’s amazed by how she seized a chance he didn’t think she wanted to take anymore. A chance on _him_. Initially he feared it might have been a one-time thing, a moment of weakness she would backtrack from, so he never brought it up after their night together. He just waited, hoping for mercy, and sure enough, he received it.

Because after a few days of work and nothing more, Chloe came back. She walked up to him without saying a word: she simply took his face in her hands, raised herself on her toes and kissed him senseless until his overwhelmed brain caught up and he lifted her up from the back of her thighs to take her to his bed.

Since then, the Commander has been claiming and taking what she wants, and he has too: he’s had her sprawled on soft sheets, pressed against the wall, perched on the vanity, propped up on the table, and he wants more, more, _more_, more of that broken version of his name she whispers in the throes of ecstasy, more of the way she holds him after, allowing him to hold her in return for a while before she has to go back downstairs.

Sometimes it’s gentle, sometimes it’s rough, but they always seem to be on the same page. Some nights there are victories to celebrate, and so they laugh their way through it as they undress each other with clumsy fingers, drunk on too much wine (a welcome perk of Chloe's effect on him), on the justice they delivered, on the softness of each other’s lips.

Other nights, instead, come after days of endless, useless chasing or questioning, leaving them both frustrated and on edge. On those occasions, especially, Chloe pulls his clothes off of him with feral desperation and asks – silently, but Lucifer sees it in her eyes – for the full strength he possesses, for him not to hold back.

So tonight he gave it to her, took her from behind in the middle of his bed, Chloe’s nails digging into the sheets and the flesh of his arse to keep him close – there are crescent marks there now, still throbbing faintly, and Lucifer can only hope that thanks to their continuous time together, they will never fade away. He pressed deep into her, as deep as he could go, holding her body down for her nipples to brush against the sheets and give her more of what she needed, _all_ that she needed. She only has to ask and he'll provide, with his lips, with his fingers, with everything he has to offer.

It’s not much, not enough, because he knows she wants answers: Chloe is good at what she does, and knows he hides a secret. But she stopped insisting at his request, and Lucifer almost feels like he has to reward her, to show her how grateful he is for her trust.

From the back of his mind, a dark and haunting voice tells him he is using her, taking advantage of her kindness by purposefully hiding what he fears she wouldn’t forgive; but it only keeps him awake after she’s gone, and by the time he’s back from his soothing morning flights, he has to meet her again and the loop resets.

So he's with her now, stuck in this cycle he has no intention of getting out of. She wanted him to be rough, but once it was over, Lucifer couldn’t be anymore, so he led her to the brass tub in the corner of his bedchamber and washed her body and hair, soothing his own bites and scrapes with gentle swipes and kisses.

Now the water is getting cold, but neither of them seems particularly inclined to leave the tub. The partition separates them from the rest of the room, candlelight bouncing off of it and lighting up Chloe’s hair, a halo under Lucifer’s wandering fingers. He is smoothing and combing the wet, golden strands to expose her naked breasts, her head resting on his shoulder as she sits between his legs, her back against his now healed chest. All is quiet and still except for Samael on the balcony, growling to himself after he was once again forced to go for a ride of his own.

“I think we’re setting him on edge,” the Commander giggles, nodding in the general direction of the dragon they can only get a glimpse of. “He doesn’t know whether he should leave or not.”

It’s the first time she refers to Samael as a _him_. Most probably a slip of the tongue. Still, something warm expands from the center of Lucifer’s chest, his arm tightening around Chloe’s middle to pull her closer onto his lap.

It means she’ll get there. It means she might say yes and come fly with him. And maybe, just maybe, it means that when he tells her the whole truth about his past, she won’t run away.

“The poor thing can’t catch a break these days,” he comments, letting his hand slide down to the inside of Chloe’s thigh, smirking at her sharp intake of breath. “Well, nights. We have been quite busy, haven’t we, Commander?”

Chloe shifts almost imperceptibly toward the touch of his hand. One of her own leaves the rim of the tub to gently press his face closer to hers, silently asking him for contact. Lucifer noses at the skin behind her ear, that place that smells of clean, of _her_. He wants to drown in it. In a way, he already has.

“We most certainly have,” Chloe agrees around a sigh. Lucifer strokes the soft skin of her thigh under the water while he waits for her to gather her thoughts, as she seems to be doing. “What about him, though? He doesn’t, uhm... mate?”

Lucifer can’t help but chuckle in amusement. Dragon biology, really? He has learned that people get excited about the strangest of things, so if Chloe is into this, fine by him. There is no desire he’s averse to fulfilling, especially now that the only ones he wants to fulfill are hers.

“Dragons are picky that way,” he starts, and there is a lingering sense of tenderness in the conversation, in the fact that, all jokes aside, she’s being curious and trying to understand more about his world. “With how few they are, you’d think they'd be all over each other like rabbits, but no. He’s tried his luck with Lilith a few times, but she almost bit his head off, that bloody nightmare on wings.”

“Lilith?”

“Mazikeen’s she-dragon.”

“Ah.” Chloe nods. “Well, no surprise there.”

She laughs, and Lucifer laughs with her. Then, a cloud settles over his thoughts. “It was… easier, before. When my family- when everyone was… here.” He clears his throat. “Wild and purebred dragons don’t go well together, you see. Dragons ridden by demons and angels respectively, that is.”

Chloe looks back toward what little she can see of the outside. The atmosphere has turned ten times colder, or perhaps it’s just the water.

“He’s the only one of his kind here,” the Commander connects the dots, her tone sad. Lucifer knows what she’s thinking but not saying. _And so are you._

His strokes are not of a sensual nature anymore: just a way to stay grounded, to feel her presence and closeness. Chloe lets go of his neck to tap the pad of her index finger over her lips in that adorable way she does when she’s thinking deeply about something. The gesture reminds him of the days they spend together out and about, of him feeding off her sharp focus and her pretending to be annoyed by his nervous yet charming energy. Or, well… actually being annoyed by it.

At last, she voices her question. “So… the dragons and dragonlings in the stables, they are all, as you put it, wild? What does that mean, exactly?”

Lucifer has never had to explain it to someone, so he takes a moment to phrase it properly. “Dragons are creatures of chaos. They need a strong will to be tamed. More accurately… a strong soul to latch onto. And demons have no souls.”

He can hear Chloe swallow in the silence. He knows this will only make her more distrustful of Mazikeen and the time the warrior spends with her offspring, but after all, it’s not like Mazikeen has helped Chloe warm up to her in any way. Lucifer himself doesn’t feel like he knows her that well anymore.

“I see,” Chloe says, masking her uneasiness, but he won’t call her out on it. “So that’s why they struggle so much to control them. Why they couldn’t stop their dragons when they destroyed those towns. There is no… mental connection.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes. It’s just glorified horse-riding for them, and a hundred times harder. Samael and I… we go way back,” Lucifer reminisces, smiling. “It doesn’t just happen overnight, you see. The egg gets placed in your cradle, and from the moment you can walk, you have to always carry it with you. Otherwise, your dragon won’t know you once the egg hatches, or it might not even hatch at all.”

_“What’s wrong, Luci? Have you lost your egg?”_

_“It’s not lost, you hid it from me!”_

_“I don’t know what you mean! You'd better find it, though! Or you’ll just end up being you, poor little Luci without a dragon!”_

_“Michael, please-”_

  
_Father, please._

Chloe makes a small sound of awe and surprise. Her emotions seem to be distracting her enough not to notice the wave of anguish Lucifer barely manages to bury back inside.

“Wow. I… I didn’t know there was so much behind it. I always saw them as… you know, beasts.”

_Monsters_. Yes, he knows that. After all, dragons are not the only misunderstood creatures there are. The admission hurts, but Lucifer is mostly endeared by Chloe’s slow change of heart. He needs her to see there is more to him, too. More than what people might have told her. More than what he’s done. More than what he’s lacking.

“What is it they say? Never judge a book by its cover?” he teases her, relaxing into a lighter mood. He feels like he revealed enough for now. She knows him – _them_ – a tiny bit more, and it’s a start.

“Well, if the book spits fire and has teeth as tall as me, I think I can be allowed some caution,” Chloe quips in kind, always quick and eager to keep the banter alive between them.

Lucifer sees an opportunity and seizes it. Enough with bloody talking, and remembering, and hurting.

“But that was… before,” he whispers in her ear, resuming his teasing strokes along her inner thigh as his other hand rests right under her opposite breast. “What about now? Does all this make you more willing to come fly with me, dear?”

Chloe scoffs, but he can sense the mood shifting again, the tension and anticipation in her limbs. Samael finally takes flight outside, _again_, the clever and unlucky devil.

“You really think this will work?” Chloe challenges him – it reminds Lucifer of their early sparring sessions, of her boldness in standing up to him even when he was still just a prince to her, a person embodying a title. And she really is a fierce opponent, he'll give her that, but Lucifer has been playing this game for much longer.

“Oh, darling, I _know_ it will.”

The Commander gasps when he brings his fingers down between her legs, the pads stroking her softly, just enough to make her feel it. The contact is further dulled by the water, and despite her strong will, Chloe squirms. Her heartbeat picks up inside her chest, her breathing turns heavy and labored. Her head leans back even more against his shoulder, delicate nose nuzzling under his jaw.

“_Lucifer,_” she sighs, and it’s almost enough to do him in, to make him stop playing so he can push his fingers into her and feel her from the inside, tight and slick and warm and _his_ – because she is, she has to be, he couldn’t stand for her to be anyone else’s.

“What, love?” he still manages to choke out as innocently as he can, not so subtly grinding up against her to get some friction for himself.

Chloe tangles her fingers in his hair again and scratches in that way that makes him melt, the little knowing minx that she is. Her other hand clutches at his arm, a bit higher than his wrist.

“Touch me,” she breathes against his neck, before placing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. He shivers, his fingers involuntarily inching closer to her heat at her request. “You know you want to. You know you need it even more than I do,” Chloe continues, hand sliding down to cover the back of his own.

And fuck if it isn’t true, but Lucifer can’t let her win. He’s human before her, a mortal worshipper kneeling at the altar of her thighs, and he has to regain some control.

“Say you'll fly with me, Commander, and I will,” he promises, offering yet another deal between them. His other hand fully cups the underside of her breast now, kneading the damp skin softly. Honestly, he’s not sure whom he’s torturing more, if her or himself.

But Chloe insists. “Please, please, my Lord,” – oh, she knows how to play dirty, doesn’t she? – “just be a good little prince for me, yes?”

He lets her push his hand closer, teasing at her entrance with his middle finger as his thumb brushes at the top of her folds. Chloe arches up to welcome him deeper into her, and twists her head to suck a mark into the skin of his neck, once again claiming him as no one else has been able to do before. And Lucifer wants to be claimed. He wants to be _hers_, too.

Who is he kidding, he already is.

He stays frozen in place, letting her roll her hips to seek his touch as his other hand pinches her nipple and then slides up to her throat, gentle but firm. Chloe’s internal muscles flutter around his fingertip, and he can feel her rugged breathing under his palm. Her pleasure is intoxicating, more addictive than any powder or substance he’s ever tried. He’s always known desire, but hers is an unknown abyss, and he just wants to dive deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

“Just say yes, Chloe.”

_Please, for my sanity, please, say yes._

Chloe smirks and tightens her hold on his hair, pulling his head back and away with a deliciously painful yank that leaves him breathless. She looks straight into his eyes, hips still languidly rolling under the water, a sinuous creature of the deep come to the surface to drag him down into the darkness like a sailor lost at sea.

“Only if you fuck me, Your Grace.”

Lucifer lets out a growl. He kisses her, hard, holding her in place from the column of her throat. Chloe’s fingers dig into his scalp like claws as she gives as much as she’s getting, her other hand pushing his own inside her with unexpected force. They moan at the same time as Lucifer’s first finger slides into her, his arm flexing rhythmically as it works between her long, quivering legs.

He stretches her with two before shifting his hips down under her, Chloe’s own hand blindly reaching between her legs to line him up just right. Water sloshes and spills over the rim of the tub as Lucifer buries himself inside her, their wet bodies warming up and sliding against each other. His Commander is like a harp under his hands: one strokes her right above where they’re joined and the other turns her face toward his so he can kiss her, deep and long and possessive.

“Lucifer,” she breathes against his lips, “Lucifer, Lucifer, _Lucifer_”, and it’s a reminder that, past the teasing and provoking, he’s not His Majesty or His Grace to her anymore. They are partners, and Chloe is his equal – no, she _should_ be. Hell, all she needs to do is ask and he'll put a crown on her head, give her a throne to sit on just like he teased the day they first met, _anything_. Should he just do it? Is he getting ahead of himself?

Well, probably. No, definitely. But she is kind and just and beautiful, and Lucifer is home when he’s inside her; this place certainly isn’t, probably never really was, but _she_ is, she has to be. What else would this feeling be? This aching, sometimes almost unbearable thumping against his ribcage whenever he touches her, whenever he talks to her, whenever he so much as sees her?

“’m close,” Chloe mumbles after a while, sounding almost dazed, her eyes unfocused and her body soft and pliant on top of his, surrendering completely to his increasingly fast pace. For all the brave talk that precedes their encounters, Lucifer has discovered that she gets incoherent soon enough, unable to form complete sentences until she’s sated and relaxed in his arms.

“Come on then,” he whispers against her hair, his breath stuttering at the feeling of her clenching rhythmically around him, “come for me, darling, let me hear you.”

Chloe moans sinfully at his words, and Lucifer loves that he’s the one doing this to her. He loves… loves…

His treacherous thoughts are cut short when Chloe tenses abruptly, mouth open around a gasp as she comes – she’s not a screamer, more of a whimperer, making short whiny noises Lucifer wants to chase down her throat. He holds and fucks her through it, making it longer and sweeter by rubbing her most sensitive spot with the pad of his thumb until she complains weakly, stilling his wrist as she kisses his jaw.

Then she sighs contentedly and melts into him, turning boneless and limp and small. She's such a little thing against his broader frame, open and vulnerable and ready to let him have his way no matter how sore she is. Lucifer doesn’t know why it hasn’t happened before, but all of a sudden it hits him like a slap to the face: the urge to spread his wings, wings he doesn’t have anymore, to wrap them around her and keep her safe. It’s an itch he can’t scratch, an instinct he can’t satisfy, and the emptiness it leaves behind tears a dry sob out of him, a sound Chloe hopefully mistakes for pleasure instead of despair.

His nature calls to him, and he cannot answer.

He knows Chloe would marvel at them, at the wingspan he never quite managed to reach before he lost them but that would be his pride and joy now. She would push her delicate fingers through his feathers and he would preen under her care, puffing up like a stupid bloody bird, making a show of it to impress her. He wouldn’t need Samael to take her to the skies, not necessarily, and the offer wouldn’t scare her as his dragon clearly does, although less and less.

At night, he would hold her in a cocoon of his own making, and brush strands of golden hair away from her face with the tip of his primaries. Before every battle, he would give her a feather as a promise of his return, and she would press it to her chest while waving, watching him soar all the way to Samael’s back instead of climbing scales like a common demon, like a mortal up a mountain side, feeling cheated and demeaned and humiliated every time he-

“Lucifer? Lucifer, what’s wrong?”

Chloe has twisted as much as she can in his lap and is cupping his cheek, thumb brushing away a tear Lucifer wishes he could mask as a drop of water from the tub. She deserves better than this weak, broken, pathetic mess he is, unable to fix himself even now that her presence might make it possible. He has tried, he has been trying, but he’s just not _good enough._

“I want them back,” he croaks, small and whiny like an infuriating, obnoxious human child. “I miss them, so much.”

He sees a flash of sorrow in Chloe’s eyes, and maybe understanding, but he can’t be sure – does she think he’s talking about his family, perhaps? And, well, is he? How bad is it, that there are so many lost things the sentence could be referring to?

She is clearly at a loss, and Lucifer is making such a bloody fool of himself. He hastily pulls out of her and tries to slither out from under her, but Chloe turns around in his lap and straddles him, pinning him down again. When she cups both of his cheeks, he attempts to turn away, but she doesn’t let him.

Instead, she guides his face to the crook of her neck and keeps it there. She strokes his hair away from his forehead and rocks him slowly, just like a certain someone did on the very same day he was cast out, and it’s too much.

Lucifer cries and cries and cries, and somewhere in the sky, Samael grieves with him and roars in anguish at the pale moon.

~🔥~

It’s a clear, cloudless night. The stars shine bright and invite him to fly higher, past the glass dome that surrounds the great wide world or whatever it is that keeps those glowing lights out of reach. Samael has tried to breach past it from time to time, pushing harder and harder with his wings until his own weight became too unbearable to carry, until the air itself pressed down on his back and rejected him.

He doesn’t mind flying aimlessly; well, alright, he minds that he’s flying _alone_, but he’s trying his best not to hold a grudge. It’s not easy, but there’s not much else he can do. The problem is that tonight is harder than most, because usually, at least he feels the distant thrum of Lucifer’s contentment (and lately happiness) down below, like a beacon of light that helps him find his way home when it’s time.

Tonight, instead, the beacon has been reduced to a candle, and Lucifer’s sadness cuts him deep the way no spear or arrow or sword could ever do.

Samael flies, but peace eludes him, and it’s a struggle not to turn the sorrow into rage and set something on fire, anything, really. A tree? An ox cart? A village?

No, Lucifer wouldn’t like that, he knows. And so, Samael flies.

Brothers and sisters of his own kind, with sharp and focused minds, sense his presence every now and then – he knows because he can sense _them_, whenever he ventures too close to where they all made their lairs, a distant city at the edge of the wasteland he was never allowed to see. He always turns back before they can get alarmed, or before the angels can spot him and blow their war horns to try and chase him. He doesn’t even know why he gets close, given how pointless it is.

It’s a lonely life, but Samael is never truly alone. Ever since acquiring a consciousness inside his egg, he’s had company. Ever since being able to think, he has known what Lucifer thinks. Ever since being able to feel, he has felt Lucifer’s joy as well as his heartbreak, and sadly, there never seems to be enough of the first while the second is more than plentiful.

A distant echo calls from inside his mind, distracting him from his musings and his attempts at enjoying the view. An angel – who else – but definitely not Lucifer. The one angel whose mind can reach whomever he wants; even him, a dragon he has not claimed.

_Samael?_

The dragon growls, letting the fire in his belly crackle and rumble to express his annoyance. What does _he_ want now?

_I'm not in the mood, Your Majesty. Not tonight._

_Why? What happened?_ A pause. _Is he alright?_

If Samael was human, he would be rolling his eyes right now, or look up in exasperation. He knows what all these little things mean, and finds them oddly amusing. But there is nothing amusing about this, so he doesn’t hide his quiet judgement when he answers.

_No, he’s not._

King Hashem stays silent for a long time. Samael hopes not to hear from him again anytime soon. Given how powerful the king’s mind is, it’s unlikely that Lucifer will ever intercept the connection, but Samael doesn’t want to risk it. Lucifer’s father has taken him for some kind of secret door to his rider's thoughts, but he is no such thing. He also has thoughts of his own, and mostly replies according to his own emotions.

_But you said he’s been happier lately_, comes the unwelcome answer.

_Clearly not enough to forget._

Oh, and Samael has not forgotten either. It was his own bite that struck down Kyrios from the sky, the dragon’s rainbow scales changing color at lightning speed to reflect his panic as he fell to the distant ground. It was Samael’s fire that inflicted vengeance on Lucifer’s behalf, and that to this day helps punish the guilty to please his master’s desire for justice.

_She is helping, though, isn’t she?_

Samael puffs smoke from his nostrils, growing frustrated. This doesn’t go both ways: he cannot know why the king asks about Chloe a lot lately, or how Hashem got to know about her in the first place, but what is certain is that he doesn’t like it.

She’s nothing special to him specifically, but to Lucifer… what Lucifer feels is so strong that Samael is bound to prevent any harm from coming to this human. The pledge in his bones now.

_Yes, she is_, he replies, unwilling to reveal anything more than this.

_Good. I was hoping he'd like her._

What an odd thing to say. Well, to think. And how misguided of the king to presume he has any right to give opinions about his master’s life. Samael's protectiveness kicks in, but as much as he tries, he can’t cut the thread of this connection on his own.

_Your Majesty?_

_Yes?_

_Don’t ever disturb me again._

His request is met with silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go, I have three links for you today! Check out these two amazing artworks inspired by this fic, one by [UstimoJan](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/614331978249011200/fire-and-ash-lucifer-and-samael-after-the-battle) and the other by [GlazzRain](https://glazzrain.tumblr.com/post/614650254274461696/lucifer-dragon-au-art-thingy); plus this lovely little [smut fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466511) set in this universe that redledgers gifted me for my birthday (thank you again, I love it so much!).
> 
> We are entering the angsty/whumpy part of the story, so be strong! We can get through this! ❤


	10. The Ugly (Red) Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Maze finds out Lucifer wants to take Chloe for a ride, her impulsive reaction leads to a chain of events with terrible consequences.

Mazikeen hates Squee. Well, everyone hates Squee, but she finds pride in how her hatred seems to burn brighter and fiercer than anyone else’s. He’s the lowest form of demon there is, a servant by nature, but destined to far worse tasks back in the day. Back when angels, _all_ angels, ruled this city by keeping her kind enslaved, stripped of any right, any dignity.

That was before Lucifer, of course. Before he rebelled and hired their help, turning his back on _his_ own kind.

Squee should consider himself lucky for the privilege of being Lucifer’s squire, and knows he can’t aspire to much more than that. No dragon for someone of his low stature: hell, if Mazikeen has a hard time controlling hers sometimes, Squee would get devoured on the first day (not that she would mind). And so, the only thing the creature can do is tend to weapons and armors: supply them, polish them, help soldiers to wear them and be divested of them.

A useful task, to be sure. But one that doesn’t inspire any respect from her. She is the one bringing honor to what they are, not him. She is the one who deserves respect around here. This is why it only infuriates her even more when she finds him doing something he’s not supposed to, at least not that she’s aware of.

Something of his own initiative? How dare he presume he’s actually entitled to having any?

“What in Lilith’s name do you think you’re doing to the prince’s saddle, you scum?” she snaps from the entrance of the armory as soon as she spots him in the far corner, sitting at the table where he usually does his polishing. Maze reaches him in a few quick steps, until she can tower over his permanently hunched, twisted figure threateningly, hands on her leather-clad hips.

“I- I'm only doing what His Grace ordered!” Squee squeaks – ugh, even his _name_ is annoying, always creating an ugly cacophony of sounds in her mind. In his hands, she can see one of the saddles Lucifer uses to ride Samael, similar to what you'd put on a horse if it wasn’t for the impossibly long straps necessary to tie it around the dragon’s massive body.

But the demon is… tinkering with it. Adding _something_ to it.

“And what _did_ he order, pray tell?”

If someone were to ask her the same question, she’d reply that she isn’t obligated to answer, because she isn’t: right after Lucifer, she’s the one in charge around here. But Squee knows he is supposed to fear her; he’s at least smart enough for that. His grey lips quiver, his cracked hands shake: a sight Maze could revel in, if she was shallower, but there is no satisfaction in scaring an ant when you’re a giant.

“He said… he said he needed one of them to be for two,” her subordinate stammers. “He said he plans on taking a… friend… for a ride.”

_Chloe._

Mazikeen tightens her hands into fists. This is going as monumentally bad as she expected, and at a faster speed. The tedious work she doesn’t get, but the fucking, that she could understand, maybe even get behind – if only it was just that.

The blond hair, the pale skin, the clear and innocent-looking eyes hiding that secret glint of defiance: Chloe is exactly the kind of woman to bring Lucifer to his knees (quite literally) for a while, a willing servant begging to be exposed to this sacred humanity he insists on worshipping, pleading for the luxury of tasting it, drinking from it, sinking in it.

Maze knows how he looks after, almost glowing, with an infuriatingly stupid smile on his face. Not to mention the marks she can see on his neck, marks no one else has ever been able to claim him with.

She only meets him for her daily report before dinner these days, to keep him informed about the state of the Dragon Army, the progress of his soldiers in training, the updates from the scouting parties sent out into the desert and the health of whatever dragon got injured last while fighting with another for scraps. And still, just by looking at him for a few minutes every day, she has noticed.

Well, _fine_, she had initially thought. _Get her out of your system then._ After sticking to a single variety of wine for too long, drinking from multiple cups again will be all the more exciting for it. But this… for him to even _ask_ her…

The point isn’t that he never asked Maze. The point is, specifically, that he never asked – no, _allowed_ – anyone, and for good reason. A reason Mazikeen respects, and respect is everything to her.

No one gets to ride Samael but the angel whose soul is bound to the beast. No one is deemed worthy of it but Lucifer himself. And Maze would not object, she never did: she knows her place. As long as Lucifer remembers someone _else's_ place, which clearly he forgot.

Because given this recent development, _Chloe_ is suddenly considered worthy of it, and Maze is not. Maze. The warrior who fought by his side in so many battles, in the very _first_ battle. The one who saw him at his most vulnerable, his most ugly, his most broken, and didn’t turn away. The general who keeps his army in check and his palace running and prevents this city from falling into chaos, a feast for scaled, fire-breathing crows.

Does Chloe really know him as she does? Maze doesn’t think so. Humans are weak little things, scared by their own reflection, by their own shadow. And Lucifer casts a really, really long shadow.

Without saying another word, the Lilim turns and leaves the armory, a new, clear intent in her bones and her steps. Her feet take her where she would have never imagined herself going, down to the servants’ quarters to find _her_. She doesn’t fully process what she’s doing: she just walks and walks and walks.

She finds Chloe in the common hall, setting plates and cutlery on the long main table for dinner together with her dark-haired friend… Ellen, or something. Trixie is also present, sitting on a chair with her nose buried in a book.

Hesitation briefly flares in Mazikeen's chest at the sight of her, but she does her best to suppress it. This isn’t about Trixie. And if Maze taught her well, the girl will be strong enough to deal with the consequences this will have on her mother’s wellbeing.

“Lucifer wants to see you,” she addresses Chloe imperiously, leaning against the doorframe. Chloe stops moving, her hand in mid-air on its way to placing yet another plate in its spot.

“But it’s almost time to eat down here, and I always spend it with Trixie. He knows that,” the human has the audacity to object. This is exactly what Maze has been fearing this whole time: Chloe starting to think herself _entitled_ to something, anything, entitled to speak to her as if they’re _equals_.

The demon is thankfully quick to think on her feet. “Well, tonight he wants to dine with you,” she replies rather convincingly, knowing Chloe won’t be able to resist. Humans and their feelings, so easy to take advantage of.

“Are you sure?” Chloe inquires, her face scrunched up in confusion – Maze is almost about to abandon her plan out of mere frustration at this point. “And why would he send you to tell me? You’re not exactly close these days.”

_Oh, this fucking b-_

“We make up fast, what can I say? I was there with him when he thought about it, and he ordered me to come down here to invite you. It’s very simple, really. Still doesn’t mean I like you or… whatever is going on between you two.”

Chloe’s eyes widen ridiculously. “Mazikeen, shhh!” she whispers, then quickly walks around the table to reach the demon’s side and speak to her more closely, even though the few other servants in the room don’t seem to particularly care. “I'm trying to keep a low profile around here. I just… I don’t want any trouble, you know.”

Right, as if the whole castle doesn’t know about it already. Such idiocy. But fine, Maze can play along. She won't have to for much longer anyway. None of them will.

“Fine, fine, I'll be _quiet_,” she says, her voice dropping on the last word with exaggerated emphasis. “So are you coming or not? I have to take you to him.”

“Why?” Chloe replies, suspicious – she isn’t dumb, Maze will give her that. To be fair, she never considered her dumb. Just… well, human. With all the bad and boring that comes with it, all the expectations that can never be met; not for someone like Lucifer, and neither for someone like Mazikeen herself. Not that she wants to, unlike him.

“We wouldn’t want you to get lost,” she purrs, shifting from the doorway to speak directly into Chloe’s ear. “He has a surprise prepared for you, and it’s somewhere you’ve never been before.”

Chloe pulls back and regards her for a long moment, considering. Then she turns around and calls to Trixie, “Monkey, will you be okay having dinner with Ella? I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Sure,” Trixie says, not even bothering to look up from her book. Maze likes her so much more for it, although she always found books extremely tedious.

Chloe leaves the room with her and follows Maze silently – staying behind her instead of walking in the front, the clever thing. Maze leads her up the steps and to the main floor of the castle, then along a corridor that bypasses the Prince’s Tower and her own.

Where the stone path suddenly splits in two as if at a crossroads, she turns right. The way forward is blocked by a heavy door, but Maze is entrusted with most of the keys of the palace, dangling from a hoop attached to her hip.

She opens the door with the key and walks past it, but doesn’t hear the sound of Chloe following her, because the human is frozen on the spot.

“Well?” Maze asks in exasperation, turning to gesture for Chloe to come forward.

“This leads to the Eastern Tower,” the City Guard realizes, her tone a mixture between fear and anger. “No one ever goes there. I thought it was abandoned.”

“It was, and now it isn’t, just for you. Aren’t you a lucky human?” Maze sneers, before snatching one of the lit torches along the wall to light the way.

She only makes it a few more steps before Chloe suddenly pins her against the opposite wall. The move surprises her so much that Chloe manages to steal one of her curved knives and press it at her throat. Oh, this is _delightful._

“Mmm, I am starting to get why he’s so crazy about you,” she whispers in a sultry tone, running her tongue along her upper lip as she shifts her hips to slightly grind against Chloe’s. She keeps the torch to one side and presses the knife she has left against Chloe’s clothed belly, just to make the game more exciting.

“There is no surprise, is there?” Chloe growls, pressing closer, and _oh_, why has Lucifer never invited Maze to join them? It would have been a lot of fun, for sure.

“Yes, there is,” she replies, which is technically the truth, too. She decides to take a risk and adds, “I need to show you something.”

Chloe’s gaze darkens. “Did you do something to him?” she whispers, threatening – it’s almost endearing, the fact that she thinks Lucifer needs to be protected by someone like herself when a creature such as Mazikeen exists. At least the training did her some good, though. She’s way fiercer than she was when Maze saw her in front of the throne that first day. Now she knows where Trixie got her natural talent, too.

“Oh, relax, he's _fine_. I just want you to know him better. Don’t you?”

Hesitation flickers in Chloe’s eyes, and Maze knows she has won. Curiosity is a difficult beast to tame. She takes advantage of the distraction to drop the torch to the floor and grab her stolen knife, before pushing Chloe back with a hard shove.

The flame dies, ashes scattering on the floor. Maze puts her weapons back in the scabbards where they belong, then keeps walking to get another torch from the next nook along the stone surface. The sources of light are inconveniently far from one another, at least for the eyes of a human: in Chloe's absence, Mazikeen certainly wouldn’t bother.

“You coming, sweetheart? I know you want to,” she calls over her shoulder, without even turning around. Her hips sway from side to side as she resumes walking, feeling like a snake charmer playing her flute to hypnotize a dangerous opponent. Well, not as dangerous as her, but a rival just the same. A rival she’s about to beat.

After a few seconds of indecision, Chloe does follow her. Maze grins to herself, leading her down twisting corridors and flights of stairs until they finally get to the last one, crawling up into the tower itself; the farthest from where Lucifer sleeps.

Up and up and up they go until they stop in front of a door at the top. Maze has the key to this one as well.

There is no turning back, now.

The weight of the decision presses on her shoulders, but Maze steels herself against it. Regret doesn’t suit a demon. There are no wrong decisions. Just decisions with bad consequences for other people who will need to grow a pair and deal with them.

She blows air on the flame of the torch to extinguish it, before simply discarding the thing on the floor. Then she puts the key in the lock, turns it and pushes the door open. Chloe steps in silently, and Maze shuts the door again behind her.

King Hashem sleeps in his bed, exhaling rugged, labored breaths. It’s been a while since Maze last saw him, so she ends up rediscovering the bastard’s features all over again despite knowing them very well, both these ones and… the original ones. The _natural_ ones.

“Is that...?” Chloe trails off, her voice small. Not to disturb, possibly, but not just that: there is fear in her voice. Well, good.

“Lucifer’s father, yes,” Mazikeen whispers, moving quietly to stand right behind her and speak in Chloe’s ear. The human gasps. In the silence, Maze can almost hear her heart beating madly.

“What happened to him?”

The Lilim chuckles. “_Lucifer_ happened to him.”

Oh, and what a glorious thing he had been back then in that almost holy moment, a red-eyed beast on a _larger_ red-eyed beast, but Chloe won’t understand. Maze can sense her panic so, so clearly. Lucifer won’t get it right away, but Mazikeen just did him a favor.

“I… he…”

“Did you think that dragon of his was for show? Did you think he conquered this city by asking nicely?” Maze inquires, moving to Chloe’s other ear, engulfing her with her presence and her words. But she doesn’t step into her field of vision, so that the woman can keep looking at the show Maze brought her up here to enjoy.

Chloe swallows. Even while standing behind her, Maze knows a question is taking shape in her head. She can even guess which, and it’s exactly the one Chloe voices.

“Why? Why did he do this to him?”

_“Father, I didn’t mean for her to follow me! I didn’t know! Please, don’t do this, I-”_

_“You don’t deserve them. Not after what you caused. Deep down, you know I'm right.”_

_“No, no, NO! I won’t let you take them away from me!”_

_“A shame it’s not in your power to stop me, then. Will you ever learn your place?”_

“You’ll have to ask him,” Mazikeen replies, gritting her teeth.

Suddenly, she can’t stand to be in this room one moment longer. There is too much tragedy polluting the air up here, and it’s suffocating, and it complicates things. Feelings are such a nuisance. Once upon a time, Lucifer would have agreed.

“This is who he is. Who he _really_ is,” she says with finality, the words cold and cutting in her own mouth. “So take a good look at that face. ‘Cause if you can’t handle this, you can’t handle _him_.”

And after a pause, she goes in for the kill: “Oh, and try not to wake the poor thing, mm? Believe me, sleep is a blessing, and it doesn’t come to him easily.”

Then she slips out of the room, retreating silently, watching the tension in Chloe’s back and the fists balled up at her sides, her body unable to move. Maze walks back down the tower steps in darkness, only temporarily illuminated by the scattered torches.

She wishes the winding path was pitch-black instead, for there is comfort in the dark for someone like her. Comfort in feeling like you are not even there, but floating in immaterial space, without limbs or a face to betray your emotions.

When her hands start shaking, she decides it must be an illusion created by the flickering flames.

~🔥~

Chloe wraps her arms around her middle to ground herself in the moment, even though this is the last place she’d want to be right now. The room she’s been left in is old and damp and barely lit, with dark and torn curtains tightly shut to block the view – or rather, to keep its occupant as isolated from the outside world as possible. At his own request? Chloe can’t be sure.

She doesn’t dare to walk any closer, but she doesn’t need to. The king’s skin, or better, the few patches still intact, are of a dark brown color, and his head is bald, although it might entirely be due to the burns.

_The burns._

Chloe has always known, rationally, that such is the effect of dragonfire; and if Lucifer rides a dragon in battle, it means that, by association, he must have caused similar damage before. But seeing it… seeing it makes all the difference, and she partly hates herself for it, for consciously (no, maybe subconsciously) deciding to ignore the truth unless forced to directly be confronted with it.

For crying out loud, Lucifer threatened to have someone eaten by his dragon _on the first day_, then proceeded to inform her that his demons torture possible accomplices as a general rule. Not to mention the screams she overheard from inside the dungeons when she entrusted Jimmy Barnes to the Princeguard.

And now the truth is here, literally staring Chloe in the face, and she can’t breathe. The truth is awful, and scarred, and red – so, so _red_. Burns should heal better than this, but then it hits her: _there is nothing dragonfire can’t burn, not even angels_, and perhaps it means that nothing can properly heal from it, either. Not even angels.

The king’s ravaged flesh hurts to look at, so she can’t imagine what it must feel like to have it sitting on your muscles, pulling unnaturally, itching and breaking in multiple places. It’s a hard, uneven surface of rough ridges and too smooth planes, a mismatch of macabre mosaic pieces, and the end result is the farthest thing from a work of art.

The end result is a creature that looks like it can barely stand from the bed, barely breathe, barely talk. The sounds erupting from its chest are harsh and painful, as if each one is chipping away at whatever energy it has left. The end result is the stuff of nightmares.

_Would it suffice to know he hurt me, too? That he had it coming, but that I hate myself for it anyway?_

Lucifer’s words ring in Chloe’s ears, his haunted tone now haunting _her_. The angel's scars flash through her mind, the only evidence of any physical hurt he might have been subjected to, although he could have been talking about a different kind of pain entirely.

Either way, the question still stands: can she be and work with someone who meets violence with violence? Who mistakes revenge for justice?

Can she love Lucifer without hating herself in the process?

Of course, war is war, and it would be hypocritical and naïve of Chloe not to expect any consequences on those who engage in it. But Lucifer’s words clearly referred to something personal, to a wrong to be righted, and Mazikeen spoke of _conquering_ this city. As in, taking it from the person it originally belonged to.

Lucifer is not a regent filling in for a sick king. He’s a usurper, bound to rule indefinitely while the real sovereign languishes in a black, forgotten tower.

The prince told her his siblings left and built a new city, and that now they want this one back. Because… because he took it from them. And his father was collateral damage.

Chloe knows pieces are missing. They _must_ be missing. This can’t be all there is to Lucifer, the same man who trails behind her like a puppy to fix the faults of the world; the same person who danced with her in an alley because no one ever let him, then gave her a lucky necklace for her birthday to protect her; the same lover who cried in her arms in a tub that might as well have been a bottomless pool filled with his unnamed grief; the same ruler who gave his word to keep Trixie safe and-

Trixie.

Chloe… Chloe has been leaving him alone with _Trixie_.

But no, she’s being stupid: Lucifer would never hurt her daughter. There is an explanation to all this, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

She stares back at the king’s face, trying to look for it, but all she’s met with is horror. Disgust. Fear. She imagines Lucifer riding the hellish beast he loves so much, the dragon Chloe was actually, legitimately growing _fond_ of at least as a concept, as an extension of Lucifer himself, a fragment of his personality, of his story. The dragon she agreed to _ride on_ in the haze of her lust, in the fog of the desire Lucifer painted on her skin with the lightest of touches.

But now, Chloe can’t help but imagine Lucifer directing Samael to swallow his own father in a storm of scorching fire, so hot it almost peeled skin off his bones. And for some reason, the Lucifer of her imagination smiles in manic satisfaction, like Death itself on a horse that is anything but pale.

Because Lucifer is not a soulless demon, a struggling rider. Lucifer is an angel, a tamer of dragons by nature. Lucifer is in perfect, seamless control of the beast whose egg was placed in his cradle, like he so proudly explained.

Whatever Samael does, Lucifer is at the reins, without needing any actual reins. All he needs is, most probably, a thought. All he needs to _kill_, or try to, is a thought. And it’s scary. It’s always been, or at least it was in the beginning, until Chloe, somehow… forgot.

_Would it suffice to know he hurt me, too?_

Chloe finds the answer frustrating in its indecisiveness, ridiculous for the weakness it shows.

_I don’t know._

But maybe, not knowing is bad enough. Maybe, it’s even worse than actually knowing.

She suddenly feels like she shouldn’t be here. As in, here in this castle, this city. Perhaps she should have really tried her luck and traveled to some distant town, to keep leading her mildly adventurous life out there in a world that makes sense. A world that is harsh and cruel, yes, but what is this one in comparison? This place where sons reduce their own fathers to barely breathing skeletons?

Is this the kind of environment she wants her daughter to live in? What is she _doing_ here?

Chloe turns and leaves the room. Her hand shakes as she picks up a torch to light the way like Mazikeen did. She reaches the door at the bottom quickly, in a haste to be as far away as possible from the top of the tower, her heart beating frantically. The demon has left the door open for her, so Chloe slips through it and shuts it behind her. Someone will make sure to lock it again, or maybe not; she finds she doesn’t care.

Through her confusion, she gets lost a couple of times on the way back to the main part of the castle, sometimes finding herself staring at a wall or at yet another closed door. Once, she rounds a corner and runs right into a couple of demons of the Princeguard, chatting to probably avoid the boredom that comes with patrolling a mostly deserted corridor. Chloe stumbles backwards, and the two guards can’t help but notice the anguish on her face.

“Look who’s here,” one of them snickers, his already deformed mouth twisting into something completely unnatural, “the prince’s little whore!”

“Aw, was he too rough on you, sweetheart?” the other adds, twisting the knife of shame in her stomach after the other pushed it in.

It’s stupid, to care about what these _creatures_ think about her, yet Chloe finds it to be the final straw. She has been so careless and heedless of the rules that now her position won’t even grant her the immunity she hoped for, turning her into a laughing stock instead. She can’t even manage to reply: she just glares at the demons and heads down another path.

By the time she finally gets back to the servants’ hall, dinner is over, and people are in the process of clearing out the long table. Ella frowns as soon as she spots her, taking in her distraught expression, and Marcus stares at her with evident concern.

Chloe squirms under their inquisitive gazes. As glad as she is to have found these new friends, her tongue feels as heavy as lead at the thought of sharing what she just saw.

“Uhm, that was quick,” Ella comments awkwardly as Chloe walks around the table and sits next to Trixie, who seems to be finishing the chapter she started reading when Chloe left.

“It was just a stupid prank Mazikeen pulled on me,” she replies with a dismissive smile, hoping it reaches her eyes. “Demons, right?”

“Oh, they are the _worst_,” the maid agrees, although worry lingers on her face, making her eyes wider.

“Chloe, is everything alright?” Marcus asks quietly. He's sitting next to Chloe already, with a few papers scattered in front of him on the table. “Should I arrange for your dinner to be served?”

“I'm fine, but I'm not hungry, thank you.”

Marcus opens his mouth to object, probably, but Trixie beats him to it, closing her book to announce, “Well, since Lucifer still has to eat, it means it’s time for _me_ to go up! See you later, mom!”

“_No!_” Chloe blurts out, her voice loud over the dimmed conversations happening around the room. Everyone suddenly looks at her, and Trixie is utterly confused.

She grits her teeth. Nothing would happen to Trixie, she _knows_ it, but panic got the best of her.

Because Lucifer dines with Samael _right there_.

She can’t let her daughter… she just can’t. And the realization breaks her heart. If she’s scared of Lucifer, then… it’s over. It has to be.

“I- I just mean that _I_ want to go up. To talk to him alone. I'm sure he won’t mind,” she explains before she can think twice, taking the opportunity to keep Trixie away and confront Lucifer on her own.

What will confronting him even look and sound like? She doesn’t know, but she can’t just leave. Oh, she considered it down the stairs, but there is a stupid part of her, the one that doesn’t listen to reason, that still clings to the hope of hearing an explanation that will satisfy her. Could such a thing even exist?

Trixie doesn’t seem too convinced, but Marcus quickly gives his consent to let the girl skip her shift, which is all Chloe needs. He is always happy to listen to the tales of the criminals she and Lucifer stop together, but it’s clear he has also seen something else between them from the start. The man has been showing a level of support and excitement Chloe generally finds heartwarming, but that now fills her with a deep, cold sadness.

She’s halfway up the steps when her daughter catches up to her, pulling her by the back of her blouse. Chloe startles and turns to look down at her.

“What’s the matter, monkey?” she asks impatiently, her voice higher than usual. Trixie fidgets and looks down at her shoes for a moment, which usually means she has done something wrong.

“I don’t know,” the girl answers when she eventually lifts her face again. “I… I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like there is something I'm supposed to tell you, but I can’t remember what it is.”

Chloe frowns, trying to keep her exasperation at bay. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it will come to you, honey. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“But mom, I think it’s important!” Trixie protests, more petulantly than her age should allow.

“How do you know if you can’t remember what it is in the first place?”

Trixie lowers her gaze once again, defeated. “I don’t know. I- I just do.”

Chloe sighs. What is this, on top of everything? And how can she find out when the only way is for Trixie herself to tell her? All she can offer is comfort, so that’s what she does in the end.

“It’s okay. I believe you. Just come to me as soon as you remember, deal?”

“Deal,” Trixie mumbles, then turns and walks down the steps toward the female dormitory, her shoulders clearly hunched and a spark missing in her steps. Chloe’s heart aches: she can only hope it will be something easy to solve, unlike what she’s about to deal with.

Her feet barely cooperate, but she is strong, or at least she likes to think so. She can do this.

Too bad she isn’t prepared for the warm smile that greets her as soon as she slips into Lucifer’s solar, a glass jug of wine in her hand to make up for her daughter’s absence at the angel’s dinner table.

“My darling, what a surprise!” Lucifer exclaims, standing up from his sitting position. He reaches her in a few quick strides and takes the jug from her hand.

“Come, Commander, come sit to eat with me if you haven’t already! Where's the little rascal? Ah, nevermind! Do you know what I've been thinking lately? That I could pour my own wine after all! Shocking, I know, but Beatrice’s talents are wasted at my side, and Mazikeen tells me she’s a natural. You could have her enrolled in a fighting school in the city, the headmaster owes me one. Used to go by The Faceless Men, but they’re over that face-cutting nonsense now, so nothing to worry about! Wouldn’t it be wonderful? You could visit whenever you like, of course!”

He has been a jumping bundle of nervous energy ever since he broke down in the tub, as if convinced he has to overcompensate, to lull her into a false sense of security by constantly reminding her that everything is fine – _Just dandy, really; forget I said anything, love_. His overflowing enthusiasm, which Chloe usually finds endearing and a little heartbreaking in its childishness, is now unnerving; a stream of words impossible to stop, like a river flooding a field.

She follows him silently as he walks back to the table. Lucifer retrieves his cup to set it under the mouth of the jug, as if to prove his recent point about being able to tend to himself – so ridiculously aristocratic of him, to think it’s such a grand discovery, but Chloe knows to pick her battles.

“Once she's older and trained, she could get into the private security business, perhaps. I know it pays well, and a lot of travellers are in desperate need of protection out there. But it’s just a suggestion! You are in charge, of course. Take your time, see if you want to discuss it with the spawn.”

Lucifer fills the cup, but keeps waving the jug in the air as he continues, “Oh, before I forget! I am having a special saddle made for you – well, for us. Wouldn’t want to bruise that lovely backside of yours, Commander. Isn’t that marvellous? See, I am thinking of everything! You are still on board with it, yes? Even though I tricked you into it with my delightful skills? Oh, Chloe, it would make me so happy if it was so!”

“I saw your father,” Chloe blurts out, shocked by her own bluntness, but there is no going back now.

Lucifer’s hand clenches around the handle of the jug. His grip is so hard and sudden that the thing breaks, causing the body of it to crash to the floor in a mess of wine and shards of glass.

Yet another thing to fall apart between them, and probably not the last one, either.


	11. Do You Know Where Dragons Come From?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe tries to confront Lucifer about her recent discovery, as others lurk just around the corner.

“_What?_” Lucifer asks in a pained whisper, walking around the puddle of wine slowly spreading on the floor. He looks at Chloe as if expecting the answer to be different from what she just said, perhaps hoping to have imagined it, to have heard her wrong.

“I saw your father,” Chloe says again, bracing herself for the rage she knows will come. Tiny pieces of glass are stuck to Lucifer’s palm, and the blood she’s apparently the cause of stares at her accusingly, but his vulnerability around her and what it might mean are the last things she needs to think about right now.

Lucifer chokes on his own breath, then rakes his uninjured hand through his hair and looks away, clenching and unclenching his fist. When he looks at her again, there is a coldness in his eyes Chloe finds more terrifying than fury.

“How?” he simply asks, brief and calculating, clearly trying to settle on a reaction as he gathers more information.

“I didn’t know he'd be there. I… suspected it, maybe, at some point along the way. But it was Mazikeen who showed me.”

Lucifer chuckles, but it’s bitter and mean. “Of course she did,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Back-stabbing scum, the bloody lot of them.”

Chloe takes a deep breath. “I'm actually glad it happened, Lucifer. Don’t I deserve the truth from you?”

The angel's nostrils flare. It’s a low blow for someone who claims to never lie, and he hasn’t, not really, but he has been hiding so many things.

How can Chloe fight evil with someone who might have committed a sin she would punish, if it was anyone else? Doesn’t he see that he has made a hypocrite out of her?

“You had no _right_,” he rasps, not really answering her question, pointing a finger at her, making her feel small and insignificant and in the _wrong_. How dare he?

The demons' mocking words from the corridor come back to her, blinding her. Suddenly, there is nothing but spite inside her, nothing but resentment for the way he tricked her into lov- into _caring_ for him even outside the scope of their work together.

“Oh, is that so? I had no _right_? Because whatever there is between us doesn’t matter, does it? Because I don’t deserve to know you any more than all the ones you fucked before me. Because I'm not worth anything more than what’s between my legs, to you. _The prince's little whore_, your demons call me, did you know that?”

She knows none of the rest is true even as she says it. If she was just one of many to him, the constant stream of lovers leaving the palace in the morning wouldn’t have stopped like it has, without even having to discuss it with him. The blow is meant to hurt, and it does, but as her heart squeezes painfully in her chest Chloe realizes the arrow might have killed two targets at the same time.

“You- you know you’re more than that to me! How can you even say that?” Lucifer replies in shock, before his expression darkens. “And no, I did not know that, but if you give me the names I'll have their tongues cut off for their insolence. Don't you see it, Chloe? The things I'd do for you?”

To be fair, the image isn’t pretty, and it’s certainly not helping her navigate this new reality in which Lucifer willingly melted someone’s face off, but… back to more pressing matters, now.

“I'm actually worried about things you already did.”

Lucifer’s face hardens, but when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically small. “Did she tell you why?”

“She told me to ask you.”

_Please, tell me,_ she thinks. _Help me understand. Prove to me I've been seeing this all wrong._

Lucifer looks at her for a long, long moment. He can’t pull any desire out of her – oh, he _can_, just with his fingers instead of his eyes – but Chloe still feels like he’s stripping her bare with his gaze.

“You have already made up your mind anyway, haven’t you? You judged me guilty the moment you saw his face.”

Chloe squirms – why have the tables turned, exactly? Why is _she_ the one standing accused here?

“No, that’s not-”

“_Don’t lie to me_,” Lucifer cuts her off, raising his voice. On the balcony, a crouching Samael lets out a roar, mirroring his anger.

Chloe can’t help but flinch at the sound, and Lucifer’s face falls. But he wastes no time: she can see his forehead crease in concentration as a thought or command takes shape in his head, and just like that, although quietly grumbling, the dragon takes flight. For Chloe to feel safer.

“Thank you for that,” she feels the need to say, but Lucifer looks away immediately, turning away from her. He walks back around the table and braces himself with a hand against the side pillar supporting the arch, staring out at the sky.

Chloe thinks of walking closer to him, but reconsiders. She is here to get answers, and she’s not finding any. Only more questions. She decides to try a different angle.

“Why is he here, Lucifer? Why do you… _keep_ him here?”

The prince’s hand tightens around the stone column. The muscles of his back and arm strain against the confines of his clothes, the fabric dark grey, silver embroidery matching his customary circlet. The lines of his body are only made sharper by the candlelight in the room.

“Because every killer must be punished,” he whispers almost under his breath, but he knows she heard, and the statement sounds like something he might have said before. “Even those who failed at it.”

Chloe thinks it over in her head. Then something clicks into place, and she feels the breath knocked out of her.

“Are you talking about him, or you? Lucifer, are you… are you punishing yourself?”

Which means Lucifer is the killer who failed at killing. Which means Lucifer wanted to _kill_, and keeps the reminder of his failure close enough for the memory to never leave him. Chloe gets it now, why the case of the tavern got to him so much, back when they considered the possibility of a son killing his father. Because it hit too close to home.

Something ugly coils in her belly, a mixture of anger, disappointment and heartbreak. She wanted him to be good so, so desperately. No matter what Lucifer’s father has done, she doesn’t believe in an eye for an eye, she can't.

When Lucifer finally turns around, the hurt in his eyes twists a knife deeper into the wound Chloe already feels opening where she used to harbor – no, where she still harbors – her feelings for him. He walks toward her slowly, with intent, like a hunter in the bushes, but she stands her ground and doesn’t step back.

She won’t be afraid of him, she won’t, she _isn’t_. She… she isn’t.

“Do you know where dragons come from, Commander?” he asks – again, not an answer but a whole new question, and the practiced move is an attempted distraction that infuriates her.

“No, Lucifer,” she snaps, feeling patronized, “I don’t know where dragons come from.” _And I don’t see how it has anything to do with this conversation, either._

“Some say they’re fallen stars, balls of fire that crashed here from the sky. Bollocks, of course,” he starts, circling around her like a vulture as Chloe keeps a close eye on him. “Others say they come from a second moon, scalded by the sun until it cracked like an egg and all of them poured forth.” He chuckles. “Inventive, I'll admit. Makes for a good ballad. But no, that isn’t it either.”

Chloe grows impatient. This isn’t how she expected this to go, with a bedtime story of all things.

“So? Where _do_ they come from?”

Lucifer stops drawing circles around her to stand behind her back. Chloe shivers as his breath tickles the skin of her neck, the echo of so many more tender moments, of laughter and sighs and moans muffled against each other’s skin in the dead of night.

“Hell, of course.” The answer rumbles from his chest before he pulls away, leaving her breathless.

_If there really is a Hell, those wretched things must surely come from it_, her father used to say, and would you look at that, he was right. Chloe would give anything for his advice right now, for the wisdom he didn’t even know he had.

“Hell- Hell exists? I thought it was just a legend to scare children into behaving.”

“It exist_ed_,” the dragonlord clarifies. He goes back to the table and leans his back against the edge of it, looking at her again. “Eternal fires of damnation, blah blah blah, all things you’ve heard about, I'm sure. Then something… happened to it. We call it The Doom. For whatever reason, the earth shook, the barrier between worlds closed, and dragons slithered out of the cracks in the ground before lava could grow cold and seal them shut. And just like that, no more damnation. No place for guilty souls to go.”

Chloe swallows thickly. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you asked me if I'm punishing myself. And the answer is yes. Because punishing is what I do.” A pause. “What _they_ do.”

_Wine, pleasure and song are my specialty, you see. And punishment._

“Jimmy Barnes,” she whispers as the memory of their first solved murder comes back to her. “Jimmy Barnes and all the others in the dungeons. You… you let _dragons_ torture them?”

How, by burning them slowly to make their pain endless without ever killing them? The image of a whole dungeon full of writhing piles of scorched flesh horrifies her. The king’s face is once again at the forefront of her mind, making her nauseous. And all this has been happening right under her nose as she fell for the idea that she was helping deliver _justice_, when in truth, she’s been providing Lucifer with new toys to play with.

“Not in the way that you think,” he answers carefully, probably able to guess her fears. “You see, dragons remember what their duty is supposed to be. Even if they’re not where they were intended to be to perform it anymore. All it takes is a long, long look into a flame, nurtured in a brazier so it never goes extinguished, and there you have them: your sins dancing in front of your eyes. Over, and over, and over. Just like all those people deserve.”

Chloe remembers the glow of a fire glimpsed through the dungeon's door. She remembers the crying and the pleading she overheard, the vows to change for the better. _Whatever is happening in there is working_, she thought back then, and it definitely is. But although it’s not physical harm, she feels just as conflicted.

“It’s still torture,” she counters, shivering as she imagines something similar happening to her. “I punish people too, but there is a right way, and there is a wrong way.”

“And what makes you the authority on right and wrong? This is what _nature_ intended.” Lucifer has his answer ready, defending his precious dragon from judgement. “But since of course it doesn’t work on _me_, I had to get creative and find a different… method.”

Chloe is horrified. “By keeping your father locked in there against his will? So you can go see him every now and then and look at him?”

“Oh, believe me, he doesn’t actually want to go anywhere. And to answer your second question, no, I don’t go see him. I don’t need to. His mere _presence_ is enough.”

Chloe feels her exasperation mount like lava about to spill from a crater, as if she was a crack in the ground herself, tearing open from the fury of a dying underworld.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lucifer? Why can’t you just _tell me_ what he did to you?”

_Why can’t you help me find a way to love you?_

Lucifer’s cold façade starts to falter, his eyes two pools of liquid sadness.

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to accept it anyway. Accept _me_. That if you saw all of me, _knew_ all of me, you’d run away. The other side of me, the part of me that did that to him… it’s bad. It’s monstrous, even. And as you are well aware, Command- _Chloe_… I ride it every day. It’s a living, breathing thing. And even though Samael breathed the fire, _I_ was the one who stoked the flame. How does that make you feel, mm? Tell me, truthfully.”

What does he want her to say? His self-sabotage is so obvious that it’s almost ridiculous. If he wanted them to really have a chance, he shouldn’t have let this secret fester in that damp tower without her knowing about it, forcing her to eventually find out in some other way. He’s mad at her for judging him, yet at the same time he’s doing all he can to push her away by not revealing what’s missing. It’s infuriating.

“If you just gave me the chance to-”

“How did you feel when you saw his face, Chloe?” Lucifer doubles down, pushing himself up from the edge of the table to approach her. Chloe has the feeling he’s trying to make himself look bigger and more imposing, towering over her.

Well, fine, then. If he wants the truth from her but refuses to tell his own, she’ll be the one to step up. After all, her reaction can’t and shouldn’t be dismissed. It’s why she came here in the first place.

“Terrified. I was terrified, Lucifer.”

She sees a twitch at the corner of his eye, a pulsing in his jaw, a wetness in his gaze he forces back in with all his might. She wishes he would scream instead, cry, throw something. She wishes he would allow himself to cling to her as he did in that tub, this time explaining what he’s mourning the loss of. She wishes he would show her his true colors, hit her back with the hurt she’s causing him. At least they'd be on even ground. At least she’d know they both want to fight for this.

“Then there’s nothing else to say,” Lucifer concludes, his voice reduced to a whimper, before turning away to hide his sadness from her.

Chloe clenches her fists at her sides, tears threatening to spill from her own eyes. That’s it? That’s all he has to offer? She had even tried to keep an open mind. She didn’t _want_ it to be over despite her moral code, despite her better judgement, despite her instincts and her initial reaction.

He let her get so close, only to pull up his walls exactly when it was time to be truly, completely honest as he always boasts to be.

Betrayal piles up on top of the fear, and it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Chloe turns and leaves the room, finally allowing herself to cry on the way out.

~🔥~

Dinner arrives shortly after Chloe leaves. Lucifer stares at the tray of roasted boar and vegetables, digging his nails in the leather backrest of his chair until they pierce it and his fingers snap the wood underneath in two. He almost loses his balance from the force of it, barely managing to hold on to the sides not to fall forward.

A broken chair is nothing in the face of the destruction Chloe left behind, but it’s one broken thing too many.

He grabs it and flies it across the room with a growl, shattering a mirror. His head whips toward it at the sound of the glass breaking, only to find too many reflections staring back at him from the parts that remained attached, distorting his features to give him more than two eyes, a warped nose, a monstrously too-long mouth. His now red gaze is multiplied and fractured, and he flinches away from it, breathing harshly through his nose.

He’s been such a bloody fool. He _is_ a bloody fool.

A fool for thinking she could accept him, and a fool for not giving her the chance to really try. But what if, even _after_ knowing the whole truth about his Rebellion, her reaction had been the same? What then? That kind of utter, complete rejection is something he knows he wouldn’t easily recover from.

At least this way, in some distant recess of his mind, he can still entertain the thought that she might have understood. How cowardly and pathetic of him. Oh, father would be _so_ ashamed.

_“He’s not your best friend, Lucifer! You need to show him who’s in charge! You can’t just let him carry you, you have to_ ride _him! I would have gifted you a dog instead of an egg if I had wanted you to cuddle up to it! When will you learn how to be a_ real _angel? When will you step up and stop being so pathetic?”_

At the memory of his father, Chloe’s words about seeing the king come back to him in a rush, and it feels like salt on an open wound.

_Terrified. I was terrified, Lucifer._

And it’s not like he doesn’t get it. More than anything, he’s mad _precisely_ because he gets it, because deep down, he knows he is scared too – scared of a face that is somehow his own, a map of the evil that resides in him; of sins like ire and lust for vengeance, of rage at what was done to him.

But the Commander is too above those things to understand them. The world is either black or white for someone like her, populated by either good or bad people. He did all he could to be seen as a member of that first category, and he needed just a bit more time to open up to her and try his luck. Possibly. But there’s also a good chance he’s fooling himself into thinking he would have ever found the strength for that.

But Mazikeen robbed him of the opportunity. For what, jealousy? Anger at being neglected? It wasn’t her secret to tell, she must know that. What lies has she whispered in Chloe’s ear to further poison her against him?

Lucifer briefly considers looking for the demon in her quarters or summoning her, but surprisingly, he has the presence of mind to recognize that he might do something he'll later regret. He'll have to take his time to think about how to make her atone for her betrayal, but in the meantime, he has somewhere else to go.

He has been dreading this moment since the end of the Rebellion, but he can’t avoid it, doesn’t _want_ to avoid it. In a way, this is a whole new punishment he has to inflict to himself.

He hastily plucks the pieces of glass that got stuck in his palm, pushed deeper inside when he gripped the back of the chair and then lost his temper. His winces of pain and the blood pooling around the cuts once the shards are removed are mocking reminders of the human Chloe makes of him, but also of the fact that she hasn’t left. Not yet, at least. Can he dare hope she won’t?

Once he leaves his chambers and starts making his way through the forgotten part of his palace, doors open naturally under his touch, like eager lips under his kisses. The demons taking care of his father need keys, but he does not.

It’s a different kind of barrier, the one that slows his steps, borne of fear and anger almost in equal measure. His hands tremble at the threshold: more than on top of a tower, he feels as if he’s on a ridge looking down into an abyss he'll soon fall into.

He only came up here once before, right after his father’s dying dragon, Kyrios, used his last shred of strength to get his rider back to what he thought was still the king's home. As stone-faced as he could be, Lucifer presented Hashem with an official decree to sign to make him his regent, looking away when a demon had to steady his father’s hand.

It’s been so, so long, yet he knows the face he'll find on the other side of the door is the same. There is no healing from dragonfire; there is no escaping the literal flames of Hell. It’s a good thing he carries them with him, blessed by some miraculous defect in the fabric of his very essence, or “chosen” for some higher purpose, if one wants to believe old angelic tales. Which he doesn’t.

Lucifer opens the door, slips past it and closes it behind him. On the bed on the other side of the room, his father is asleep, probably helped by very heavy doses of milk of the poppy administered at regular intervals so the effect doesn’t wear off. After all, there isn’t much else for the king to do in his… condition.

He shivers at the sight, so similar to the one that haunts his nightmares, of a different angel that didn’t survive instead. His back aches with phantom pain, with the flutter of invisible wings being torn from him. His heart pumps too fast in his chest, and there isn’t enough air in the room for him to breathe, the smell of smoke clogging his nostrils as it did that day.

He realizes he has to speak to wake the High Angel on the bed, but lacks the words.

“Father,” he calls, but it comes out choked. He clears his throat and tries again, louder. “Father?”

It doesn’t work. Maybe he’s not close enough. Swallowing, Lucifer walks forward until he reaches the foot of the bed and can stand right under the edge of the old, torn canopy. Dark covers conceal his father’s body from the waist down, but the king’s chest is exposed – the softest of fabrics would still be unbearable and itchy to wear, pulling at the scabs and ridges that make up his torso.

In fact, all battle injuries _should_ be visible on the demon soldiers of his Dragon Army, but being all Lilim like Mazikeen, they hide them. She does too, but Lucifer _remembers_, and the memory softens his anger for her as he contemplates how much she has suffered for him, how much she _still_ suffers but without ever showing it.

While angels, for all their might, are doomed to lose their sacred beauty to the kiss of their own dragons' fire. Well, except for him.

“Father?” he tries again, daring to touch the king’s ankle over the covers. Even in the haze of forced sleep, the contact seems to be enough, and Hashem King of the Angels jerks awake in front of Lucifer’s eyes, momentarily staring in confusion.

Lucifer pulls his hand back immediately. He grips the edge of the bedframe, this time making sure not to crack it, ignoring the pain in one of his palms. He watches, without even breathing, as recognition slowly dawns on his father, filling his eyes – the only thing that stayed the same through it all aside from scattered patches of still brown skin, similar to Amenadiel’s.

“Lucifer?” the king croaks, trying to sit up but failing at it. “You’re here, my son.”

Lucifer struggles to place his tone, not at all helped by the strain that punctuates every word. Is his father happy to see him? Does Lucifer want him to be, even now? Is he really that desperate for forgiveness?

But no, there will be no such thing here, he reminds himself. Father was the one who taught his children never to grant it and never to expect it, and this one lesson, Lucifer learned well. Because _he_ isn’t ready to forgive, either. Not his father, and not himself.

“Yes, I am,” he simply replies, maintaining his tone as neutral as possible.

“What can I do for you?” Hashem asks, so _polite_, more than he's ever been in his eons of existence. Turns out he had to be burnt to a crisp to find an ounce of consideration for others, or maybe he’s just starved for any kind of conversation: something obviously lacking in his life unless he managed to befriend one of his caretakers despite his hatred for demons and _their_ hatred for him.

Lucifer takes a deep breath, probably the first since he entered. “Mazikeen brought a woman up here today. I want to know what you told her.”

What is visible of the king’s brow furrows in confusion. “I have been asleep for a while, son. I know nothing of any woman being here.”

The answer takes Lucifer by surprise. He hadn’t considered the possibility of Mazikeen just _showing_ him to Chloe, but now that he thinks about it, she simply said that she _saw_ his father. After all, it’s safe to say that seeing is more than enough.

He doesn’t know how to respond. He thought Chloe had heard the king’s version of events and later asked for his own to get to the truth. But his father’s words seem truthful, and the fight starts to drain out of him.

Then, Hashem stirs, or does so as much as he can, with sudden curiosity in his eyes. “Is this woman… important to you?”

Lucifer’s jaw clenches. The king is in no condition to harm anyone, but his first instinct is to protect Chloe from his interest anyway, so much that he finds himself saying, “No more than any other human warming my bed, really.”

Father, for all his burns and ugliness, manages to look smug. “I thought you never lied, Lucifer. You’re that desperate to keep her safe?”

The idea that the king still knows him so well is positively infuriating, but not more than another bitter realization. “Am I supposed to believe you'd actually care?”

So many moments from the past come back to him. So many secret trips out into the world at night, back when humans were denied the safety of the Dragon City and could only live in the towns and villages scattered throughout the desert.

In those years, Lucifer would sneak out on Samael, the both of them younger and more reckless. Away from his judging siblings, he'd get his fill of humanity, having his lips kissed raw and his lust fulfilled, drinking wine and ale, smoking and snorting and inhaling whatever strange new concoction mortals had just come up with to have fun.

Amenadiel, older and therefore riding an older dragon, would force him to come home by threatening to harm Samael, while Canaan snapped his jaws angrily to get his master’s point across and Lucifer's dragon cowered in a corner, trying and failing to get away.

And once back at the palace, Samael would watch in fury, forced to stay back by spears that could still pierce his tender skin, as the king treated Lucifer to something between five and ten backhanded slaps to the face for his insolence, until Lucifer's cheekbones turned bloody and the blood mixed with his angry tears.

So no, father certainly won’t approve of Lucifer’s relationship with a mortal, that much he knows. And yet, Hashem replies, “As a matter of fact, I do care. I care very much.”

Is this a trick? A deception to get Lucifer to go into details and then do something about it, somehow? Something to _her_?

“Well, since you didn’t actually talk to her, you are of no use to me, so… apologies for the intrusion, father. You can go back to sleep,” he concludes, intent on not giving him any advantage. It’s probably paranoia, but he can’t know for sure whether the king managed to turn some demons to his side, as absurd as it may seem.

Lucifer turns to leave, his mind troubled. Then the other angel whispers, “Tell me I didn’t ruin this for you”, and he freezes on the spot.

Slowly, he turns back toward the bed. “Well, I can tell you she wasn’t thrilled, as you can imagine.”

Father looks sad. Sad _for_ him. Lucifer finds he can barely stand it.

“You have to fix it, Lucifer,” the king tells him with too much vehemence for his liking, as if it’s a command, as if he has any right to still command him. “She is perfect for you.”

A chill runs down Lucifer’s spine. “You didn’t even see her. You don’t even _know_ her. How can you say that?”

His father hesitates, something extremely unnatural, almost jarring. And he doesn’t speak. Nothing could be more suspicious than that, and something venomous crawls up Lucifer’s throat as he starts to panic.

“Answer my question, Your _Majesty_.”

It could be his anger alone, or the red that sparks in his eyes for a fraction of a second; either way, Hashem looks at him for a long moment and then, finally, he replies.

“She… she is a gift, Lucifer. A gift to you.” A pause. “From me.”

Lucifer scoffs. He knew his father was trying to get him to talk just to eventually hurt him.

“You just can’t help it, can you? Torturing me. Taking things away from me. Reminding me you have power over me, or better, trying to make me believe it even now that the crown sits on _my_ head. I have had enough of your lies. I have had enough of _you_. It was nice catching up, let’s not do that for another few millennia, sounds good?”

This time, he actually makes it to the door before the king speaks again.

“Her father prayed to me. John Decker.”

Lucifer’s hand tightens around the door handle. His thoughts start to spin in circles. Did someone… tell him the name? A nosey demon, perhaps? How could they have found out her father’s name, though? Chloe doesn’t often speak about him, and he can’t imagine her doing it in front of creatures she can’t trust. Plus, the demons of the City Watch and those tasked with his father’s health and captivity never even mingle.

He even considers the possibility of Hashem sneaking into Chloe’s memories, given the many talents of his mind, but he said he was asleep, that he didn’t know she was there. Just as he has learned to do from the Commander, Lucifer rules out theory after theory until what is left must be the truth.

He turns on the spot, stunned, unable to utter a single word. He feels like he’s entered a mirror world, warped, distorted, unreal. In front of his silence, Hashem keeps spinning his tale, his breath turning pained as his sentences become longer and more elaborate.

“He and his wife Penelope were struggling to have children. Somehow, he must have heard of my power, that I can not only hear prayers, but also answer them directly. As you know, I mostly ignore them, and after the War they significantly decreased anyway. But this one, this man… there was so much desperation in his plea. I was here, forced into this bed, and… I decided I'd do it. To feel powerful again. But also… for you, son.”

The king takes a moment to catch his breath, coughing and wincing at the way it rattles his now fragile body. Lucifer feels such a cold rush in his veins that he might as well have turned to stone.

“With my mind, I told him to buy a fertility potion. But not one of those scams you'd find in town and city markets. No, I made it very clear: he had to find a warlock, and ask to be given a potion containing angel blood, from the _black_ market.”

“Where are you going with this?” Lucifer croaks. Oh, he so knows where he’s going with this. It’s so obvious that it’s almost ridiculous. The most clever of jokes, at his expense.

The king smiles. It’s ugly and wrong, wrong in so many ways.

“That way, I made it so that the child would be resistant to our powers. I knew it would be what you needed. Someone who wouldn’t fall under the spell of your beauty, and who would challenge you to get to know them instead of drawing desires from their eyes. I assumed you still went out into the world of humans, or that you might have welcomed them in here. So I took a gamble, hoping that at some point down the line, you would meet.”

Lucifer’s breath starts to increase in rhythm, the world fuzzy at the edges of his vision.

“_Why?_”

“To make amends,” the king says, breaking his own rule, admitting he did something _wrong_, but the only way it could hurt more than this would be if he was thrusting an angelic blade in Lucifer’s belly as he speaks. “I know you love your humans. I still don’t understand it, but now I see that I don’t need to. I wanted to give you something after what you lost, after what we _both_ lost. After what I… took.”

Chloe, his Chloe (well, probably not anymore), a compensation for the grief in his heart and the limbs cut from his back. A… a creation, an invention, a literal _creature_ by his father’s design. And he’s telling him all this hoping it will get Lucifer to fix things with her? Hoping he will ignore this blatant manipulation of his fate, this _gamble_ on his life as if it was a bloody game?

A gamble, in the _hope_ that they would meet. A thought strikes him like lightning.

“Tell me you didn’t.” He’s shaking now. “Father, tell me you didn’t tell those dragons to destroy the town she was in so she would come to me.”

This final blow would destroy him. The realization that nothing was by chance, not a single thing.

“How could I have known where she was?” the king replies, arching the patch of skin that used to host his eyebrow. If Lucifer were to try harder, he would probably come up with an answer or several, considering the reach of his father’s mental capabilities. But right now, he can’t. He clings to what is probably a lie with a wild, almost frenzied desperation, despite how fond of truth he is.

He can only manage to ask this one more thing: “How did you know I was speaking about her in the first place when I came here?”

“Oh, those wretched things you surround yourself with like to talk, and apparently she attracted a lot of attention when she arrived. I recognized the family name back then, and assumed it was her when you barged in here, worried out of your mind.”

Fair enough. Lucifer can’t question that. Honestly, his mind is in such a state that he can barely move, let alone form a coherent thought.

What does all this mean for them, assuming there is still a “them” to fight for, assuming he _wants_ to? And what about his vulnerability around her, and his hope to regrow his wings as a consequence of his changing nature?

It all crashes down on him, then. This whole time, he thought she was changing him because he was learning how to explore humanity in her company, with her, _through_ her. He thought it was out of his own merit, when… when it was father. All along. Plotting to make Lucifer happy so he would get his _forgiveness_, or, in case Lucifer never found out, to simply feel _better_ about his past actions.

He doesn’t see anything generous in this… gift. It’s not even that: it’s a curse. A disease. Father infected him with this, and Lucifer can’t be healed again. He’s doomed. Doomed to want her and hate himself for wanting her.

Having his wings cut off hurt way, way less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The legend about the second moon scalded by the sun is featured in the book _A Game of Thrones_, while the “sins in the flames” concept is a mixture of Hell loop lore + visions in the fires of the Red God/Lord of Light in ASOIAF. And the tale of The Doom, of course, is a wink to the end of Valyria.
> 
> A ray of light and hope from next chapter: _“I need you to tell me what happened. All of it. You were there, weren’t you?”_ (I promise we're getting there! 🙏🏻)


	12. A Hopeless Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the conversation between Lucifer and his father unfolds, Chloe takes matters into her own hands.

“But mom, I don’t want to leave!”

Chloe is busy cursing under her breath for all the clothes she managed to buy herself and her daughter during their time here, but still finds a moment to reply, “I said we are, and that’s final.”

Trixie folds yet another pair of trousers at a leisurely pace, intent on dragging this out for as long as she can, all the while glaring at her mother. Sitting on her bed, Ella looks so sad it almost seems as if she’s the one leaving.

“Are you sure it can’t be fixed, Chlo? You and His Majesty make such a good team.”

The chest is getting full and heavy: they'll have to attach a cart to her horse, to go… wherever it is that they’re going. Probably an inn for the night, as a start. Chloe knows she’s being ridiculous in showing such a rush, and yet.

“He's- he’s not the person I thought he was,” she mumbles, pressing down on the folded clothes with her full weight.

_He’s violent, cruel, unpredictable. But most importantly, he’s the coward who gave up on me._

Leaning forward, she’s made aware of the dragontooth necklace dangling from her neck. She takes hold of it for a moment, but can’t find it in herself to snatch it off.

“What about your position in the City Watch? You _love_ your job,” Ella insists. And Chloe can’t really deny it, but… as much as it pains her to admit it, she mostly loves to work with _him_.

But knowing what happens in the dungeons… she’s not sure she can consciously be a part of that. She understands that Hellish justice is superior to the human one, and that Lucifer basically arranged for it to be delivered even in the absence of an actual Hell. She understands that it’s not her place to question the nature of something that was designed for this specific purpose by unknown celestial forces. But it doesn’t mean that it’s easy for her to accept it. It’s a lot to take in, a lot of changes to apply to the way she sees the world.

“I'll find something else. I always do,” she replies, not knowing what else to say.

The truth is, she so doesn’t want to get back out there, which is proof that she grew too comfortable here. A City Guard by day, and almost a queen by night, falling into the strong arms of the Prince of Darkness. But she was never meant to be a queen. The world will make sure to remind her once again.

“But I don’t _want_ you to!” Trixie whines, throwing her hands in the air. “Lucifer needs us! We can’t abandon him!”

Chloe’s brow furrows. “Why do you say that, Trix?”

Her daughter sighs, shoulders slumping where she’s sitting on the edge of their bed. “I told you, I don’t _know_. I just know there is something I'm supposed to remember, and I think it involves him.”

It’s slightly more information than the last time Trixie spoke this way, but still not enough to understand what she means. Her daughter’s insistence is starting to trouble Chloe, to be honest. Did the girl see something in Lucifer’s chambers while serving him, and somehow blocked it out?

“Lucifer can take care of himself, believe me,” is all she can think of replying. Then, to lighten the mood, “Didn’t you notice he has a veeery big dragon as his personal bodyguard?”

“But what if someone hurts Samael, too?” Trixie asks, her big eyes full of concern, squeezing at Chloe’s heart. She honestly didn’t know Trixie cared about it – _him_. And despite everything, she can’t help but find it terribly endearing.

“Oh, monkey,” she cooes, interrupting her miserable packing efforts to kneel in front of her daughter and look up at her with seriousness, “nothing will happen to them, alright? They’ll always keep each other safe.”

The reassurance is a balm to her as well. The notion that Lucifer is never truly alone, especially now that she’s leaving him. Chloe tells herself she’s doing the right thing for her little family, but doubts gnaw at her insides. Trixie seems happy here. _She_ has been happy here. Other people would probably look the other way or pretend not to have seen, and a part of her wishes she was among them.

“I'll miss you both so much,” Ella sighs, looking down at her feet. “This place will be so boring without your stories, Chlo. And you didn’t even share the steamy ones.”

“Ella!” Chloe yelps, her eyes widening. “Trixie is literally _right here_!”

“I know what sex is, mom,” Trixie helpfully adds, a smug grin on her face. “It’s only natural, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Where is all this wisdom coming from? Chloe would rather not know. She pats her daughter’s knees in acknowledgement and goes back to filling the already full chest of clothes. But after a while, there’s a knock on the door.

“May I?” Marcus' voice drifts from behind it – a gentleman’s gesture, considering they are all in their nightgowns except for Chloe and Trixie. The other occupants of the room are mostly under the covers, sleeping, reading by candlelight, or combing and braiding their hair. Those who are awake nod enthusiastically at the thought of strong-armed Marcus seeing them like this, and Chloe rolls her eyes.

“Sure, come in.”

His head appears from the now open gap, focusing on Chloe as not to intrude too much on the others' privacy, which clearly disappoints many of the eager servants waiting for his entrance.

“I was hoping to talk to you in private, Chloe, before your departure.”

Chloe is extremely tired, but it feels rude to decline. Marcus has been nothing but kind during the meals she shared with the serving staff. She wouldn’t call him a friend as she does with Ella, but he’s still a decent man and should be treated as such.

She nods in his direction, then turns to Trixie. “I want everything packed by the time I’m back,” she warns. Trixie sticks her tongue out at her, which means it probably won’t happen. Chloe is suddenly reminded of how much of a nightmare this will be, with a very uncooperative little girl to deal with on top of her heartbreak.

Resigned, she slips out of the room quietly and follows Marcus past the servants' hall, outside, in the enclosed space connected to the kitchen where food deliveries arrive. They sit on a bench on one side of the small yard, illuminated only by moonlight, but the sky is so clear that it’s all that’s needed.

High up, Samael is still missing from Lucifer’s tower after he sent him away not to scare her. Chloe knows for a fact that the dragon hasn’t come back and departed again, or they all would have felt it. Lucifer usually flies when he’s on edge, so it pains her to wonder why he’s denying himself this comfort.

It would be a vision to see him take off from the balcony, Samael’s scales glimmering in the moonlight. For all the ugliness they cause, she has at least learned to appreciate these creatures' beauty through the soft reverence in the prince’s eyes.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she addresses Marcus, who is also staring at the empty balcony right above them.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” he answers once he looks back down at her. Chloe blinks, taken aback.

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t know the whole story,” she says, her tone clipped. Too many people seem to think they know what is best for her around here, and their opposition is only making an already difficult decision harder.

“What I know is that you love him. Well, I think you do.”

A mean, mocking laugh escapes Chloe’s lips. Feeling cornered, all she can do is lash out and defend herself. “Forgive me, Marcus, but you reached this conclusion from what, a few rundowns of the cases we solved over breakfast and dinner? Do you really think you know me that well?”

_Is it this ridiculously obvious?_

A wise smile spreads across the man's round face. Chloe hates that he always seems older than he looks, from the way he speaks to the way he expresses his emotions. There is a calmness in him that has always felt reassuring, but that is now too upsetting in the face of the turmoil inside of her. When someone this calm speaks to you, you almost feel forced to listen, and she’s not sure she wants to.

“I know you enough. And I also think he loves you, too.”

“I- that isn’t the point, anyway,” she chokes. Then she quickly regains her composure, and manages to give quite the convincing speech. “I fear we are too different. We come from two very different worlds, and maybe it’s time for me to get back to my own before I forget that I belong to it.”

Marcus raises a hand, palm facing her as if to calm her down. “I understand. Truly, I do. I just think you’re being a little rash, that’s all. Whatever broke you apart happened today, isn’t it so? Perhaps you should give yourself more time to think before doing something you might regret.”

“I can’t stay here, Marcus,” Chloe objects, frustrated. “I just- I _can’t_.”

Marcus places his hand on hers, covering the back of it where she’s resting it on her knee. It’s unexpected, but Chloe lets him. In her mind, the touch of a man has always been either a threat or an attempt at romance or seduction, so for this to be a sign of friendship is a nice change.

“Then don’t. But don’t leave the city just yet. If you want, I have a friend who could host you and your daughter until you decide what to do. I promise I won’t reveal where you are if His Majesty comes asking, no matter the possible consequences. How does this sound?”

It sounds very kind, almost too much to be genuine. But what would Marcus gain from her staying close by for a bit longer? After all, he isn’t interested in her, otherwise he wouldn’t be so supportive of her involvement with Lucifer. And maybe he’s right. It’s all happening so fast; she could use a moment to think things through.

“It sounds… very wise, if I'm honest,” she concedes. “But I can just find an inn and pay for a room to sleep in for a few days. I don’t want to disturb or be indebted to anyone.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that!” Marcus pats the back of her hand with finality. “You will basically be my guests. No need to spend coin, especially since you might need it if you decide to leave in the end.”

The members of the City Watch are payed more than well, so that wouldn’t be an issue, but Chloe doesn’t see any harm in indulging him. Maybe it will be a bit awkward, but at the end of the day, why refuse?

“Thank you, Marcus. I owe you one.”

Marcus shrugs and gives her a smile.

“I'm just happy to help, Chloe.”

~🔥~

Leaving under the cover of darkness like a thief is not something Chloe particularly likes, especially since she didn’t even inform Lucifer about it. She can’t stand to go back to him and see the disappointment on his face at her words, or worse, a mask of understanding or indifference, a wall of passive, cowardly acceptance.

So she leaves. Commander Focalor doesn’t even make a fuss at her announcement that she’ll be away “for a few days”: she’s been so independent so far that it barely even feels like he has any power over her, and the demon must feel like she has the prince’s approval, so he doesn’t question it.

Marcus reassures her that he will inform Lucifer if he asks about her, giving him the same excuse but nothing more. To be honest, Chloe isn’t even sure it will come to that: his “There is nothing left to say” felt pretty final, and if he truly does not lie, he shouldn’t wish to speak to her again. And even if he does, she wants to be the one to set the terms, to come looking for him if and when she’s ready.

But what would be the point anyway? He doesn’t want to open up to her, not completely, and Chloe needs the whole picture to fully understand. She needs it… but does she _want_ it?

What if what she might find out makes what she already knows even worse? What if, at least in her book, Lucifer’s father didn’t deserve that at all? And this not taking into account celestial justice delivered through visions dancing in dragon flames.

Oh, she _definitely_ needs a moment to think.

Kelsey, it turns out, is the sister of a friend of Marcus more than a friend of his herself, but the two men are very fond of each other, she explains once she welcomes them, so she is more than happy to help whoever is important to Marcus.

The man himself escorts Chloe and Trixie to the house in question, giving Chloe directions from the cart she indeed attached to her horse. Trixie sits next to him among their luggage, stubbornly quiet and scowling every time Chloe turns around on the saddle to check on her.

The house is made of stone, like most in the city, and is very basic but overall comfortable. Kelsey, only slightly older than Chloe and with curly brown hair, gives them a room with two separate single beds: a change for which Trixie seems very grateful, judging by the way she lands face-first on the mattress and refuses to be of any help or company for the rest of the night.

Has Lucifer really made this much of an impression on her? Or is it Mazikeen? What is Trixie mad about the most? Being unable to train? To serve? To _study_? Well, at least she managed to for a while. And since it will be hard to keep it going once (if) they start moving around again, it’s a good thing the girl has a solid basis of knowledge now, and a few books she might be able to finish even without a tutor.

Chloe leaves her daughter on the bed and walks back into the kitchen, the very first room of the house from the entrance and the one where all the others converge. Marcus and Kelsey seem to be engaged in conversation, but turn around and smile at her warmly as soon as they see her.

“I'll take my leave then,” Marcus announces. He'll walk all the way back to the palace, he said, and won’t mind the late night stroll. “Don’t hesitate to send for me, Chloe.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Kelsey accompanies him to the door. Chloe stares at the woman's back as she waves at him, asking him to come visit more often, or more like commanding him to do so. It’s an easy dynamic borne of a long-time acquaintance: despite what Marcus told her once about moving around to keep things interesting, he seems to have put down roots, too.

Chloe knows she can’t say the same, at least not up until this moment. All she ever planted in the ground were seeds to grow things she’d have to eventually eradicate, much like herself.

Was she, for the first time, putting down roots here? Can the Dragon City still be her home if she chooses? Maybe she could find a different occupation, one that wouldn’t force her to deal with the meaning of justice on some higher level. Maybe it’s time to settle down, for Trixie’s sake.

And maybe, the winged shadow of the Dragon Prince won’t follow her around as she fears.

But this last one feels, at least for now, a hopeless illusion. Because when Chloe settles under the covers of a bed that isn’t hers and tries to sleep, he is there. Not the screams of the criminals he condemns to endless suffering. Not his father’s face, burnt and half-melted. Him.

His barely concealed heartbreak when she told him she’d been terrified. His sleepy smile whenever she kissed him in the morning before heading back downstairs. The way he always seemed to cling to her in the night, lying on his stomach, scarred back on display for fingertips that simply couldn’t find the courage to reach out and touch.

Chloe opens her eyes and stares at the unfamiliar ceiling, gripping the hem of the bed covers. Something feels wrong. This – _that_ – isn’t who she is.

Lacking the _courage_? Since when? Running from the truth instead of seeking it and facing it? Since when? If Lucifer was a suspect refusing to cooperate, she’d simply look for a different source or angle and proceed from there.

So that’s exactly what she’s going to do, tomorrow.

~🔥~

Mazikeen stares at the piece of paper that was delivered to her chambers first thing in the morning. She’s still in her quarters, hunched over the table, looking at it. Reading it over and over and over again.

She thought Lucifer would come to her yesterday, so when he didn’t, she assumed Chloe decided not to confront him right away about the discovery Maze led her to. But no, that’s not the case. There _was_ a discussion, clearly. And it seems to have had the kind of outcome Maze was hoping for, but also… another one she had not expected. One she doesn’t know how to feel about.

She thought she would be punished, had even welcomed it already. Tortured, maybe? Banished for a while? In the end, things would have worked themselves out. In time, Lucifer would have realized that she had done it in his interest. But this… this isn’t what Maze wanted. Not really.

She needs to talk to that stupid human. Again. She needs to show her the note at the very least, and probably do more than that. There are arrangements to take care of, things to be decided.

Paper in hand, Mazikeen turns away from the table to start heading out of the room, and of the castle, too. Will she have to interrogate Ellen to find out where Chloe went? Just in case, she has her knives with her, although deep down she wishes it won’t come to that. She’s kind of funny, that one.

Well, no need, it seems. Because as soon as the Lilim opens the door, she finds herself face to face with Chloe.

“Oh, it’s you. I was actually going to look for you,” Mazikeen informs her, while stepping aside to let her in. The City Guard is in her ordinary clothes, but with her sword at her hip, which Maze doesn’t fail to notice. For protection, just in case (as if it would make any difference).

“How come?” Chloe replies as she takes in her bedchamber – very similar to Lucifer’s, but smaller and without a balcony.

“Lucifer did something very stupid, and it involves both of us.”

Chloe cuts her exploration short and turns back toward the door where Maze is still standing. “What did he do?”

Maze leans her side against the doorframe and crosses her legs. “Tell me why you’re here first.”

Chloe sighs, resenting her for making this difficult. Still, she reveals, “I need you to tell me what happened. All of it. You were there, weren’t you?”

Maze straightens up. Something feels wrong.

“He… didn’t?”

Chloe shakes her head, silent. Mazikeen feels a pang in her chest she’s not used to. Is this what humans call guilt? Is this what condemns them to repeated visions of their sins? Not that it would work on her very soulless self, but… it doesn’t need to. This nagging suspicion, the impression of having chosen the wrong course of action, it’s… annoying at the very least. Uncomfortable.

Lucifer didn’t even give himself a chance. She broke him _that_ much. If he had, and Chloe had rejected him like she assumed, Maze would have been there to pick up the pieces even while having to endure his resentment. But he didn’t, and she can’t be there for him now.

Will this count as another betrayal, though? Probably, but what harm could it do at this point? It’s a clear violation of his wishes, but… Lucifer doesn’t always understand what is best for him. And to be fair, maybe Mazikeen doesn’t either, but this could be her chance to see if her worries have been founded all along.

If Chloe still won’t accept him, then it will mean Maze was right to try and separate them. While if Chloe will show compassion and understanding, it will mean that Maze was wrong, that Chloe is stronger than she gave her credit for.

That maybe, she actually is what Lucifer needs. Because Mazikeen isn’t, hasn’t been for a long time or maybe ever, and that is alright, too. But her vow is to protect him from danger, and now, the danger might be his own unwillingness to trust Chloe with the truth. And since he isn’t here to witness the outcome of such a gamble, there is no time like the present to take it.

“I'll tell you everything,” Maze agrees.

It will hurt, but she’s used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, but that was needed to lead up to the _longest_ of the whole story, which will be the infamous flashback chapter! See you Monday!


	13. The Field of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Chloe learns the truth from Mazikeen, we also find out what happened during Lucifer’s Rebellion from the Dragon Prince's own memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the main reason the story has a Graphic Violence warning and a Minor Character Death tag, so please be aware of that. It’s a tough one, folks!

Some say he fell, and call him fallen. And he did. He is. Although not in the way one might think.

Lucifer never fell from the sky. Not once. But from grace, he fell alright.

The day leading to his Rebellion starts as any other. Breakfast in the common hall with his most prominent siblings, the ones mother and father trust or care about the most and who are therefore allowed to live in the Dragonfort. Among angels, there is no pretending all children are equal: they are not, and the ones deemed less worthy (the ones whose eggs never cracked open) live in the city like commoners.

To gain more importance, though never quite enough, they can only hope to learn to tame the wild dragons captured from outside and kept to increase their military power – a question of number, of having “spares” to sacrifice if necessary.

It’s mostly a matter of status quo, in truth. There _are_ other angel clans out there, some constantly on the move, but encounters are rare and mostly avoided. Still, having a fairly decent number of dragons guarantees security, makes the city untouchable. And so, one could say their lives revolve around them.

But not Lucifer’s. Well, not entirely. He trains the whole day, as he should, as is required of him, and Samael is his greatest pride and joy right after the beauty of his own feathery wings, or maybe in equal measure. But at night, when no one is looking, his life is about something (some_one_) else. Humans.

Lucifer _loves_ humans, and no one in the family understands why. Angels are expected not to mingle with them, mainly for a question of innate superiority, but also because there is no point in mating with them – no point beside endless fun, that is. Which is exactly what Lucifer craves. The only way for them to produce heirs is with each other, a practice mortals frown upon but that is encouraged among angels; a practice that Lucifer, maybe precisely because of his fascination with humans, thoroughly despises instead.

They are immortals after all, so why the obsession with procreating anyway? The way he sees it, they are already too many as it is. Mother and father clearly took the whole “preserving the bloodline” philosophy a tad too far.

So this night, like many others before, Lucifer sneaks out of his room, frees Samael from the dragon stables and flies. Since he likes the novelty, and also to make it more difficult for Amenadiel to find him, he never goes to the same village twice, which means he ends up flying farther and farther each time. The world is at his mercy, spread out before him and ready to be enjoyed, and he literally has an eternity to see it all. Somehow, he knows he'll never get tired of it.

Humans are scared of dragons, so Lucifer lands at a safe distance from the designated village and leaves Samael behind. The creature is free to either hunt in the wilderness or wait for him, coiled around himself in a light slumber.

The night unfolds as they all do: with wine and song and sex, with lips and hands so soft precisely because their softness will not last, and moans and whimpers borne of pleasure instead of duty; notes Lucifer produces with all the talents of his body, with a question whose answer lies in eyes of a different color each time.

It’s intoxicating, and it seems like he has chosen a far enough place, because no one comes to drag him back to the Dragon City with threats and punches. If he’s lucky, father will not even find out, and he’ll be spared his customary set of slaps for once.

Sated and happy and slightly inebriated (it would be a feat to manage more than _slightly_, and Samael doesn’t like it when his mind is fogged), Lucifer heads back home a bit before dawn, when the sky is still dark but slowly promising to give way to a new day.

With his wings still hidden from view, as is advisable around humans, he returns Samael to his cubicle. Then he enters the palace, puzzled by the realization that there is no one at the entrance. He has befriended the lesser angels acting as sentinels enough for them to cover for him, so he doesn’t have to worry about being seen anyway, but it’s strange for them not to be at their posts.

Things become even stranger when, despite the early hour, the throne room he expected to be empty turns out to be as crowded as it has ever been. From either side, winged angels of all statures turn to look at him, their faces grave and judging; and behind them, all huddled together like a shaking mass of deformed limbs, the demon slaves that tend to the castle watch the scene with wide eyes, probably as surprised as he is by their own presence here.

Lucifer lingers at the door, frowning: was it really needed to summon them all as witnesses to his punishment? Usually, there are only his mother, Amenadiel and a few others for that. Does the king have something different in mind, something to show everyone as a lesson?

Lucifer wouldn’t be so surprised. Father can be very cruel when he wants to be, and mother… goes along with it, for lack of a better expression. She’s never raised a hand on him, but at the same time, she’s never raised it to protect him, either.

Chin high in defiance, Lucifer walks the length of the domed hall. He won’t appear scared in front of them, in front of anyone. It always feels like the dragon skulls along the walls are watching, and it’s stupid, but he does not want to disappoint. They are Samael’s ancestors, and the notion carries a meaning that goes beyond his own rational understanding, but that is in his bones nonetheless.

He reaches the dais and looks up at his father, seated on his throne with his diamond wings spread behind him. The twin one next to it is unoccupied: mother must still be sleeping, or maybe she decided she had no interest in watching a show she has already seen countless times.

Michael stands at the king’s side, hand on the hilt of his sword. Amenadiel stands next to the empty throne, hand tight around his spear. They all look entirely too serious for Lucifer’s liking: the least he can do is sigh dramatically.

“Well? What’s all this? Did you really have to wake the whole castle to slap me around, father? Did you wish for a bigger audience?”

At this point, the king usually stands up, walks down the platform and has his way with him, and Lucifer clenches his jaw almost instinctively to prepare himself. But this isn’t a usual day. It might have been up until now, but it won’t be from this moment on. Because _this_ is the moment that will change _everything_.

“The queen is dead,” Hashem tells him, with no inflection in his voice. No anger. No grief. Just a cold, blunt fact that slaps Lucifer in the face way harder than his palm ever did.

Because it can’t be. It can’t _be_. They… they don’t die. None of them ever has. Dragon battles are the stuff of angel legends at this point, and the temple has never seen a funeral since his birth.

“W-what?” he croaks, his voice lacking the confidence of his previous words, betraying how young he is. With several decades under his belt, he knows he’s ancient by human standards despite looking like the equivalent of a fifteen-year-old; but for angels, it’s nothing. He’s almost a child, and he certainly feels like one, lost and helpless and terrified.

“Our mother is dead, Lucifer,” Michael is the one to answer him this time, “and she died because of you.”

Lucifer can’t believe his twin brother just said that. For all his harassment, this seems like too low of a blow, even for him.

“I don’t understand.”

Are they tricking him? Trying to scare him for him to appear weak so they can later mock him for it? Deceiving him into admitting something he didn’t do? What _is_ this?

“She ventured out looking for you,” Amenadiel says, and unlike with his father and brother, the grief is evident in his voice and on his face. “She insisted that maybe you would have listened to _her_, if not me. But she never came back.”

It still doesn’t make any sense. How can any harm have come to her? A dragon ridden by another angel, perhaps, from a nomadic clan? Still, crystal-scaled Genesis is a powerful mount, almost matching Kyrios in size and strength. It is unfathomable to imagine the queen and her she-dragon defeated.

“How… how can she be…?” he trails off, sure that Amenadiel will understand what he’s asking. He does.

“She went by herself,” his big brother explains, his tone full of pain and anguish before it betrays something else. “She left Genesis behind because she didn’t want you to feel threatened by her. And she was unarmed, for the same reason.”

It’s resentment. Lucifer recognizes it. Resentment and hatred toward _him_ at how defenseless and vulnerable their mother was willing to be, for his sake. It finally sinks in, now, that she is gone. After decades of indifference, she finally took a step in his direction, made a _decision_ that was entirely her own, and got punished for it.

Lucifer struggles to breathe, but to cry, to choke, to show weakness is a sin among his kind. He suddenly looks around to focus on the stern gazes directed at him, and finally, he realizes what this is: a trial. No, a sentencing. Mother is the victim, and he is the guilty party. But… but who could have?

“Your precious humans did it,” Michael informs him, almost as if he just read his mind. “We sent spies to look for her after a while, but it was too late. Someone made a deal with the Ashur Clan, it seems: payed for an angelic blade and the services of their shaman, so the wounds would be fatal.”

The only way to sentence an angel to death aside from dragonfire: stop gaping wounds from healing and chopped off body parts from growing – a power possessed by the very same angels who can also speed up the healing, like their brother Raphael. A cruel affair that clearly has to be arranged on purpose; a rarity they reserve to the most heinous offenses, like the attempted theft of a purebred dragon by an unworthy, dragonless minor angel.

Maybe the nomads were in need of coin or who knows what else; or maybe they saw an opportunity to weaken the feared, envied, revered angel dynasty of the Dragon City. The result, in the end, is the same.

But Michael is not done. “They killed her to cut her wings off. To _sell_ them for profit. These are the creatures you mingle with, _mate_ with. Monsters lower than demons, dirtier than scum. _Murderers_.”

_Not all of them are like that,_ Lucifer thinks, but knows better than to say it aloud. Some humans are capable of despicable things, but he never really believed his lot to be any different when it truly comes down to it.

He sinks to his knees. _Falls_ to his knees. His very first way of falling, but not the last.

“Father,” he calls, opening his arms in a gesture of surrender. He knows punishment will be demanded, and regardless of whether the culprits will be apprehended, he will have to be the first to bear the wrath of the King of the Angels. For once, he welcomes it. “Father, do with me what you will.”

Hashem stares at him for a long moment, his dark face frozen in quiet consideration under a crown he’s about to lose, although he doesn’t know it yet. Lucifer wishes they could all mourn together like humans do, instead of keeping up this tough pretense. Only his lovely little sister Azrael is crying in the corner right under the dais with Remiel's arm around her shoulders, the huntress’ face hard and scowling.

“Seize him,” the king commands, nodding in the direction of specific members of his family. Lucifer has the feeling the manner of the punishment has already been discussed, which doesn’t come as a surprise. Will it be beating? Whipping? A period of forced isolation?

He tries not to tremble as Sariel and Gabriel, also twins but blond and blue-eyed, detach themselves from the angelic crowd on either side of him. The two approach him to stop right behind him, towering over his kneeling body. When they grab his arms and twist them behind his back to keep him in place, Lucifer doesn’t even flinch; but he does shudder when Michael walks off the platform and unsheats his sword, before _also_ settling behind him.

A beheading is the first possibility that crosses his mind, or the blade going right through his chest: Raphael would make sure of his demise, as was done with the Queen. But even if this is what’s happening, what can he do?

His first thought, of course, goes to Samael, but the dragon would be as outnumbered as he is. With his mind, he orders his mount to not intervene, no matter what happens. Once Lucifer dies, his dragon will fly away to never be seen again, like he’s certain Genesis has already done. No new rider could ever be accepted after the mental connection formed inside the egg is severed.

He thinks of translucent scales glimmering under the light of dawn, and then of black, red-shaded ones. Sariel and Gabriel hold him firmly as he closes his eyes, sensing Michael’s sword hovering above his head.

He’s not sure he’s ready, and deep down, he knows he does not deserve this. But mother is gone, and someone must pay. Every killer must be punished, and if it can’t be the right one, clearly it will have to be him: the rebel, the black sheep, the reckless boy who ventured too far out and involuntarily put her in danger.

Then his father speaks again. “Spread your wings, Lucifer,” he orders, and the world stops spinning for a moment.

Around him, a low hum of hushed comments of disbelief drifts up from the crowd: turns out that not _all_ of his siblings were aware of this plan. Even Amenadiel, always boasting about being their father’s first advisor, looks taken aback.

Lucifer swallows, then tentatively asks, “Why?”

Michael hooks his fingers in his hair harshly, making him wince in surprise, then yanks his head back to whisper in his ear from behind, “You know why, _Luci_.”

He does. Without having to hear it, he does. And once again, he also knows that thanks to Raphael’s powers, the result will be impossible to reverse.

His heart starts beating wildly, like a bird trapped in a cage. He might have been ready to die, but he’s not ready for this. He doesn’t want to be made less than what he is. He doesn’t want to lose what makes him so similar to his Samael.

“I-” he croaks, as dread courses in his veins, “Father, there must be something else you can take. _Anything_ else. Just not them, please, anything but them!”

Well, there is _one_ other thing he wouldn’t want to lose, but he’s pretty sure his father will opt for a hand, at best, in the hopes that at some point down the line Lucifer will see sense and accept to perform his holy duty of procreation.

But Hashem is not swayed. “I said spread your wings, Lucifer. Don’t make me say it again.”

Lucifer starts to struggle, now. Since he knows death is off the table, he won’t make this any easier for them. It _is_ his fault, in part, but this can’t be fair. He didn’t mean for that to happen, he didn’t _want_ her or anyone to look for him.

Sariel and Gabriel's grip turns painful around his bent arms. Lucifer attempts to stand up, but Michael kicks the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel again with a grunt.

He doesn’t know how, but they’ll find a way to force them out. And so, as much as he hates to do it, he pleads.

“Father, I didn’t mean for her to follow me! I didn’t know! Please, don’t do this, I-”

“You don’t deserve them,” the king cuts him off, the words as sharp as the blade meant to slash his back open. “Not after what you caused. Deep down, you know I'm right.”

Does he? Doubt enters his mind, but if he shows a hint of it, it will be over. If begging won’t work, he will have to cling to bravado instead, although it will be just as useless.

“No, no, NO! I won’t let you take them away from me!”

His father’s features harden at his statement, at his insolence. The king cannot accept for any of his children to tell him what he can and can’t do, what he will or won’t be _allowed_ to do.

“A shame it’s not in your power to stop me, then. Will you ever learn your place?”

Lucifer doesn’t reply. His gaze finds Amenadiel, hoping to be thrown a lifeline, but his older brother seems to still be considering his options: to stay back, or to do something? To keep being a loyal son and servant, or to defy? Until he decides, Lucifer is alone. He realizes he has always been.

Then, another angel steps forward, but not one he expected. Uriel. Quiet, reserved Uriel fond of patterns and predictions just as much as Lucifer is fond of desire. Stern, contemplative Uriel who is always eager to please their father in any way he can. Is he rebelling? Now _that_ would be a shock.

His sibling slowly reaches his side, then crouches slightly to be able to speak in his ear. Lucifer stops struggling to be able to hear him properly.

“Think, Lucifer,” Uriel whispers heatedly, almost scolding him. “Samael isn’t fully grown yet. His flesh is still tender, not just to another’s teeth, but to our blades, too. Think about what might happen to him if you keep refusing.”

Lucifer pales, stilling his movements completely, even his breathing. “You… you think…?”

“I _know_. I can see patterns, remember? Father’s intent is clear in my head: mother’s wings were cut off, and another's will have to follow. There are only two paths in front of him- well, in front of _you_. You’ll have to decide whose ones, though I feel it won’t be much of a decision, knowing you. Stop fighting this, brother. Let it happen, for his sake.”

Of course, it could be a lie. Lucifer is perfectly aware of it, but it doesn’t make any difference. At his age, Samael can easily be held down with chains or by older, bigger dragons. His siblings could let another beast bite his wings off, or do it themselves with a weapon. What would he be then? A pitiful snake, crawling in the sand? Assuming he’d survive it. But no need to wonder: the mere thought of his agony is enough.

Lucifer nods minutely in Uriel’s direction, and silently, his brother retreats to fall back in line. Michael must have heard, or maybe it’s Lucifer’s change in demeanor that does it: either way, his twin brother slashes through the back of his tunic with his sword to leave him naked from the waist up, shivering. Sariel and Gabriel peel the torn garment off his arms, then grip them again like the good little soldiers that they are.

Lucifer closes his eyes, pushes back tears of renewed grief, and unfurls his glowing white wings behind his back. The act seems to make this whole ordeal very real, because the crowd grows agitated, but no one more than his little sister.

“_No!_” Azrael cries out, with Remiel’s hand flat on her chest to get her to stay back. “Michael, don’t do this! You can’t do this!”

“When I'll want your opinion, little one, I'll ask for it,” Michael says flatly, gripping Lucifer's hair again to yank his head to the side as he settles more _comfortably_ behind him. He is finding such pleasure in this, Lucifer knows it for a fact: Michael has always desired to be seen as better, worthier, stronger. And once Lucifer loses his wings, he probably will be.

For one last time, through the pain caused by his twin's nails digging into his scalp, Lucifer stares up at the king. There’s never been much love in Hashem’s eyes, but today more than ever, his gaze is barren, and Lucifer knows there is no hope.

Still, he tries, “Father, I beg you, please-”

“You made your choice, Lucifer, and I have made mine,” the king replies, cold in his assessment, detached in his reasoning. “We all have to live with the consequences of our actions.”

Amenadiel, who in the meantime has walked closer to the only occupied throne, dares to speak. It is so ridiculously inadequate that later, in time, Lucifer will grow resentful of him not for mere indifference, but for something much worse: cowardice.

“Father, please, reconsider. You know she wouldn’t want this.”

It’s a good attempt in terms of angle and cleverness, to be sure, but it’s just the one, and it won’t be enough.

“Well, she’s gone, isn’t she?” the king snaps, losing his composure for a moment, betraying at least a hint of _something_ underneath it all. “And it’s _his_ fault. Now get on with it, we have somewhere to be.”

Lucifer frowns. “Where do you-”

Pain, searing and blinding and burning, erupts from a single point of contact between his shoulders. Azrael screams, but he screams louder, thrashing about to get away from it out of pure survival instinct. In his mind, as well as in real life, Samael roars in anguish with him, _for_ him, and Lucifer uses what is left of his self-control to once again order him to stay where he is.

He barely manages to form the thought before another blow cuts where his right wing meets his flesh: it won’t be easy nor quick, because despite the effectiveness of the blade, his skin is resistant by nature. The wings flapping wildly out of their own volition only make it harder – Sariel and Gabriel grab them with the hands they are not using to hold his arms, but the feathery appendages are too frantic to properly be kept in check.

Michael hacks again, and again, and again, first as if trying to cut down a tree, and then, once the limb is half-severed from its socket, slicing back and forth as if cutting a bite of meat off a steak. It’s unbearable, and Lucifer almost faints from it, but out of sheer resolve, he doesn’t. Anger fuels him through the pain as he stares into the king's eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. If there is shame in crying, let him be shameful, but he will not let his father look down or away from it.

And he doesn’t, but Amenadiel does. Another thing Lucifer will never be able to forgive him. The fact that he spared himself the sight, but couldn’t manage to spare _him_ the pain.

Blood trickles down his naked back, soaking his roughspun slacks. Leather will come later, once he’ll embrace demons and their ways; once he’ll come to the realization that he was made one of them – wingless, ugly, deformed, displaying a beauty that is deceiving – and will therefore open his court and city to both them and humans, for he was also made more similar to them than he ever was before.

With a sickening squelch and then a thump, the right wing falls off his back, leaving an open gap behind. Lucifer can feel the air brush against open flesh and exposed muscle, trembling with involuntary twitches and spasms. The sudden change in weight distribution makes him unbalanced: he slumps to one side, allowing himself to break eye-contact with his father, head hung low and defeated. His brothers – are they even that anymore? Have they ever been? – hold him up though, preventing him from falling.

Before Michael starts on the left wing, there is a moment of silence as the angel readjusts, a silence broken by Azrael’s continuous sobbing. Lucifer’s mind at this point is muddled, fogged, barely clinging to reality, but he manages to whisper, “Get her out of here”, hoping someone will hear and most importantly listen.

He catches Remiel’s gaze, the huntress nodding in agreement – a concession, finally, as small as it is. The brown-haired angel, clad in heavy furs, starts to turn around to gently guide their younger sister away, but then the king speaks again.

“He gives no orders here, Remiel. I do. And I want _everyone_ to see this.”

Remiel’s jaw clenches, but of course, she stops. No one ever dares to go against father, no one but Lucifer. This is, once again, a moment that will change everything: the moment in which a clear, distinct thought took shape in Lucifer’s mind. Or maybe the thought was there already, but this was the last straw that made it obvious.

_I'll make you pay for this. I'll make you suffer for this. I'll make you regret this._

Because this could have been done in private: in his room or in the dungeons, behind closed doors. But no, father had to _humiliate_ him and scare everyone else in the process, make an _example_ out of him to his equals, and to inferior beings, even. A ridiculous notion, when it comes to demons: most of the ones he can see behind the rows of angels are smiling with glee at the bloodshed.

Most of them... but not all of them.

Before Michael’s sword strikes him again, Lucifer’s eyes settle on a female Lilim, human in appearance. Her hair is black, her skin is dark, and her face is twisted in anger and disgust – not at him, but _for_ him. Later, a bit later, he will remember this face, and choose her to fight at his side precisely because of it. And when centuries down the line she will betray him, it will be this memory that will lead him to show leniency, and to forgive.

Because when he had no one, he found her.

The left wing falls off with as much difficulty as the right, but Lucifer has reached a point where the pain is almost a blessing, a level of numbness and detachment that makes him almost leave his body but not quite. He can barely feel his remaining limbs, as if he fell asleep in an awkward position. Still, the final snap as the wing drops to the floor does startle him into a state of renewed consciousness, making his whole body seize up and tense unnaturally.

Suddenly he is lighter, so, so much lighter than he has ever been: even with the wings tucked away, the weight has always been there, real and palpable. Now, something is missing.

He is something else entirely, not an angel anymore, not really. But he is no human either, and certainly no demon: in conclusion, he is a being on its own. A weird, one-specimen species; an experiment of nature to be observed for study purposes. A freak. Though to be fair, his love for mortals has always made him so, in a way.

“You’re just like them now,” Michael whispers in his ear, smearing Lucifer’s hair with his own blood where he’s gripping it. “A wingless, weak little thing. How does it feel, brother?”

_Wrong._ It feels wrong. But Lucifer won’t give him the satisfaction.

In the absence of an answer, Michael chuckles and retreats, his towering figure walking around him to get back at the king’s side. The dead, discarded wings _crunch_ under his feet, making Lucifer flinch at the sound, at the unbearable insolence of the act. But this one, father certainly won't punish.

Through the haze, Lucifer senses someone nodding – Hashem perhaps, but he can’t be sure – and then Raphael reaches him from the crowd. Because as expected, this isn’t a temporary punishment to teach him a lesson. This is something he will never recover from – they are making sure of it.

He could beg, of course. Try to stop them from taking this final step, from dooming him for the rest of his existence. But Lucifer is tired. He’s done. Let it be quick, let it be over.

The two twin gaps in his back burn under his brother’s touch, as if being cauterized, but at least it _is_ over quickly. Without even looking, Lucifer knows for a fact that the skin isn’t smooth: he can feel it pull unnaturally, can sense a different texture in the soft layer right over his bones. Now thicker and uneven, it will be forever covered in scar tissue, and nothing divine will ever sprout from it again.

Sariel and Gabriel let go of his arms and step back. Lucifer falls forward from the sudden change in balance, not at all helped by the absence of the incorporeal weight he was used to feeling at his back. He lands with his palms flat on the stone floor, wincing at the jolt of pain that runs through him. Then he manages to resume his kneeling position, grinding his teeth together to withstand it.

He stares at his father once again, so that the hatred can sustain him, but also to avoid looking at the mess of blood and feathers around him, at what was once a part of him and now is no more.

“Saddle the dragons. It’s time for us to go,” King Hashem addresses his sons and daughters. At this point in time, demons are not even deemed worthy of such a task, but it’s something that will change soon.

Lucifer sees hesitation flicker in Amenadiel’s eyes. What else does their father have in store for his fiercest warrior to be uncertain?

“Father, I know you are angry,” the dark-skinned angel starts – _A speech? Now?_ Lucifer can’t help but think bitterly –, “and I am, too. We all are. But this won’t bring her back, and it’s your own rule you are asking us to break.”

His own – no. Oh, no.

“You want to kill _humans_?” Lucifer asks in disbelief, his voice rough from all the screaming, his throat raw and chafed. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“The nerve he has,” Michael mocks with a sneer, talking to the crowd as if Lucifer isn’t even worthy of his attention anymore, “to address the King of the Angels in such a way when he isn’t even _one_ anymore. Already feeling compassion for your new lot, Luci? You don’t even want to avenge your own _mother_?”

“We could not identify the perpetrators, Michael,” Amenadiel objects before Lucifer can answer, his anger growing. “A battalion has already been sent to track down the Ashur Clan, but when it comes to the humans, we only know the town. What do you expect us to do, burn it all down for good measure?”

“Precisely,” Michael shoots back, defiant. “We know they are there. What’s stopping you, brother? Has Lucifer’s sickening obsession with those weaklings rubbed off on you? Let fire rain down on those who have wronged us! Let them know the wrath of the Heavenly host!”

“There will be innocents! Women, children! We can’t-”

“Then stay back.” It’s their father speaking, now. “We already had this discussion. If it’s a rule _I_ made, then it’s in my power to change it, too. We have allowed humans to live unbothered and undisturbed, and look how they have repayed us. I am done with this. Those among my children who truly loved their mother will follow me, I know it. On with it.”

With that, the king turns to leave, followed by most of his children, indeed. Only Amenadiel and Azrael stay back, together with Lucifer and the silent crowd of demon slaves. It will be their job to clean the mess left behind from Lucifer’s punishment, and as he imagines his wings tossed away like rotten food, he feels sick, but holds the nausea at bay. He needs to focus. He needs to _think_.

He can’t let this happen.

“I… I will take Azrael to her room,” Amenadiel says after a tense, awkward moment of quiet. Lucifer almost feels like shouting at him that perhaps, _perhaps_ he could also worry about leading _him_ to his room, too. But since he’s grateful that his sweet sister will be taken care of, he decides not to make a fuss. Plus, it’s probably better for him to be left alone right now.

Before that can happen, Azrael reaches his side. Her hands flail weakly in the air, not really knowing what to do, probably scared of hurting him. She’s so tiny that even while kneeling, he’s slightly taller than her, but his hunched position makes it easier for her to cradle his face in the crook of her neck. Azrael brushes his bloody hair away from his forehead, slick with cold sweat.

“I'm sorry, Lu,” she cries, and Lucifer cries with her – demons have already seen him at his worst, and so has Amenadiel, who watches quietly from a corner. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

She rocks him back and forth, then, his little sister; more motherly than their own mother ever was. She whispers cooing nonsense in his hair as he shakes in her arms, clinging to her long, black tunic; as dark as her smooth raven locks, so similar to his own. Out of everyone, Lucifer can’t resent her the fact that she could not stop this: Maveth, her bone-white she-dragon, is such a tiny thing, just like her, and any form of rebellion might have resulted in the beast being harmed, too.

Before pulling back to be led away by Amenadiel, Azrael leans closer to his ear.

“You will always be an angel to me,” she tells him, “and more importantly, you will always be an angel to Samael. Remember this, always.”

Lucifer nods at her, smiling weakly. In this moment he thinks he will, but in time he’ll find himself forgetting it, and Samael will indeed be the one to remind him.

_Samael._

At the mention of the dragon's name, a fire starts to crackle to life inside him, but he waits for his siblings to leave the throne room. Then he looks around, finding himself surrounded by demons, and scans the crowd until his eyes land on the female Lilim from before. As he keeps looking at her, Lucifer tries to stand up from the floor, one foot flat on the stone. He falters.

And then, suddenly, she is there.

“Let me help you, my Lord,” she whispers as she supports him, one lean but surprisingly strong arm around his waist, careful not to touch the fresh scars. No demon would ever dare to address an angel unprompted, no matter how respectful the words.

Later on, Lucifer will wonder if in this moment she saw an opening, a weakness; if she sensed the rage mounting in him and made herself available to be exactly what he needed, earning herself a new position in the process. He will also decide it doesn’t really matter.

“What is your name?” he asks, finally able to stand up with her to lean against. He never bothered to learn any of their names; in this, he actually turned out to be just like his siblings.

“Mazikeen.”

“Mazikeen.” He tastes it on his tongue, sure he'll be saying this name quite often in the future (and he will, until she’ll tell him he can use a shorter version of it, too). “Would you like to fly, Mazikeen?”

The demon looks at him in confusion, then down at his now useless wings – no, not _his_ anymore. Lucifer chuckles darkly: something has changed in him, or something has died; the part that underneath it all has always strived to be praised and accepted and called worthy. He certainly won’t be, now. These are his “people”, and he needs them.

“No, no,” he chastises, “I meant on a dragon.”

Now unsupervised, the previously silent demons voice their surprise freely, squirming and speaking to each other in hushed tones. Lucifer doesn’t know their language yet, but Maze will teach him.

“Demons are not allowed to ride dragons, Your Grace,” his future right hand objects, though the glint of a challenge is already there, feral in her eyes. The anticipation. The lust for retribution and validation.

Lucifer latches on to it and says, “Well, they are now.”

It’s reckless. Insanity. Madness. Demons can’t control living being with their minds, with souls they simply do not have. The lesser angels, although lacking a permanent bond, can at least learn to use their thoughts to simulate the presence of one temporarily when they need to. This… this will be messy. But father must be stopped. Father must pay.

In the years that will follow, it’s this that Lucifer will struggle with the most: how to untangle the reasons behind what he did. Was it to defend innocent humans, or to get revenge for the loss of his wings? Probably both, but in what measure? And does the first reason compensate the second, or justify it, even?

But that will come later. Not now. Now, Lucifer methodically explains that “There are untrained wild dragons you can claim. Not in the stables – those will have been taken by my lesser siblings already. They are in the dragonpit behind the castle, and answer to no rider as yet. Tame them for me, fight by my side, and if we win, I'll make sure to reward you.”

Not wanting to lie, he stays vague. It hasn’t yet sunk in his too young mind that what he’s doing is a coup, that the rest of his family will never come back, that this will become _his_ unwanted kingdom of demons and, a bit later, humans.

Not all demons agree, of course: they are visceral creatures, but not as stupid as angels would like to believe, and know that many of them will die in the attempt or later in battle. But Mazikeen seems to have a good amount of influence, and she manages to gather a decently sized group of soon-to-be riders, of fellow Lilim eager to change their lives and escape tyranny.

With gratitude in her eyes, she accompanies Lucifer outside, then leaves for the aforementioned dragonpit in long, panther-like strides, unafraid.

Samael is as restless as he has ever been, when a stumbling Lucifer frees him from his stable, using the side of the dragon himself for support. Lucifer walks around the beast, his hands moving from scale to scale like those of a blind person following the length of a wall, until he finds himself face to face with his ride. He lets his eyes turn red, fully fusing their minds together, and stares into Samael’s while clinging to his snout.

He doesn’t have to speak, of course. There is no need, and it is a beautiful, beautiful thing in the midst of a terrible, terrible day.

His chest is bare and his back is covered in dry, crusted blood, but Lucifer doesn’t even bother with clothes or weapons. For one, he can’t risk walking to his room and being found out by Amenadiel; and secondly, he doesn’t really care if he gets injured or dies as long as he manages to stop the carnage.

He does believe in punishment, a principle engrained in him by his father, ironically; but it has to be fair, and this one isn’t. He thought _he_ had payed the price so others wouldn’t have to.

Climbing on top of Samael is a painful ordeal, one that takes multiple attempts, but the dragon crouches as low as he can go, making himself almost flat. He uses the end of one wing to gently push Lucifer’s foot up as it leaves the ground, and then they’re flying, and Lucifer barely manages not to cry. Because it’s still as marvellous as always and this, _this_ cannot be taken away from him. He lost his wings precisely for _these_ to still be able to carry him across the sky.

Lucifer doesn’t know if the town in question is the same he spent the night in, but he doesn’t need to: Samael naturally follows the scent of his kind. Every now and then, Lucifer turns around to check if any of the demons he let loose is at his heels, torn between hope and dread.

What if they cause even more destruction than the one he's trying to prevent? Did he let anger blind him to danger and folly?

In the end, right before they reach their destination, other dragons do appear behind his own, the first one with Mazikeen on the saddle, of course. Reins and whip in hand – as is customary even for angelic trainees –, she is laughing in delight and anticipation, dark hair tangling behind her in the wind.

And so it begins.

Samael finds Demiurgos first – Michael’s dragon, a reversed mirror image of Lucifer’s with blood-red scales shaded in a slick oily black under the pale sun of the early morning. The two beasts hate each other just as much as the twins riding them, and the battle is a wild, frenzied affair: jaws tearing into flesh, claws slashing through the gaps between the scales, columns of fire erupting from their mouths to try and get the other’s rider to fall, unconscious and therefore unable to spread his angel wings and save himself.

Well, Lucifer doesn’t even have that luxury now, but Samael is somewhere beyond fury for what has been done to his master. He overpowers his rival to the point where Michael, although uninjured himself, has to retreat to the ground to let his dragon rest, his face twisted into something unrecognizable by rage and shock at being defeated by a _not_-angel.

Victory tastes like honey on Lucifer’s tongue, underneath the soot and ashes in his mouth, and he wants _more_.

Angels and demons fight in the skies at a fairly safe distance from the human town, but close enough for people to probably notice and evacuate just in case. A smart measure, though not necessarily useful, for there really is no escape from the fury of dragons: adult ones can even melt stone with their fire, making caves collapse on themselves and turn into scorching graves if anyone decided to seek refuge there. That's why Lucifer needs to get to the source of all this. Father.

_Find him for me. Help me end this._

If demons were into books, many poems and epic tales would have been written later on about the feat that came after: Samael, young and powered by a rage beyond understanding, defeating a dragon more than thrice his size and unfathomably older.

Yet it’s exactly what happens: taking advantage of its dimensions and consequent stealth, Samael attacks Kyrios from behind before the monstrous rainbow-colored beast can turn, latches on to a wing and tears it off with all the strength his jaws are capable of, growling in pain himself at the effort required.

Hashem lets out a scream of outrage that echoes across the sky and throughout the land. He leaps off his saddle, diamond wings spread and sword in hand to try and attack Lucifer as his dragon begins his agonizing descent, but Samael’s fire hits him before he can, prompted by his master's pure, seething hatred.

The king’s wings melt, and his skin with them, and through red eyes ablaze with hellfire, Lucifer watches as _he_ falls, unable to feel anything. Yet.

Hashem spirals down, down, down and screams, screams, screams, leading Lucifer to assume this will be his end. Only later, back in the Dragon City, he will find that dying Kyrios managed to stop Hashem’s fall and bring him back before leaving this world; so he will decide to lock his father in a tower and forget about him… or try to.

For now, he looks around to make sure the other angels have seen, hopeful they’ll decide to retreat. He sees some dash through the clouds, chasing after the king, while others are still engaged in battle with Lilim-ridden dragons. Samael is bleeding and tired, but Lucifer asks him to get closer so he can order the demons to give his siblings an out: there shouldn’t be more bloodshed than necessary.

But there will be. Oh, there will be. And for it, more than for his father’s monstrous face, Lucifer will never forgive himself completely.

He hears a scream coming from behind and whips his head around, wincing at the pain in his back. That’s when he sees her: Azrael riding Maveth, clearly chasing after him, only to fall under an onslaught of fire from a dragon who clearly doesn’t know any better because there is no one to properly tell him what to do.

It happens in a heartbeat, but Lucifer will relive it time and time again enough for it to be seared into his memory: Azrael’s body, burnt and unrecognizable, falls off the saddle; Maveth panicks, tries to go after her, but gets literally torn in half by the claws and jaws of another bigger dragon, with another clueless demon at the reins. With a heart-wrenching wail that will haunt Lucifer’s nightmares, her scaled limbs burst like the crumbs of a loaf of bread split in half, a rain of blood and gore painting an already red sky.

Later in the throne room, with Mazikeen’s help, Lucifer will be able to identify the two riders responsible, and his first act as Dragon Prince will be to rip them apart with his bare hands, a red-eyed growling animal unable to listen to reason, excuses, requests for mercy, blinded by anger and grief and regret.

Later still, Mazikeen will lead him trembling and twitching to his room, and wash the blood off his naked body as he stares into empty space, eyes still red and muscles numb with shock. The funny thing is that the other demons will only respect him all the more for that show of strength, ignorant of his hidden weakness, of how it broke him that much more.

Before all that, Samael flies down immediately, without even being prompted. Dragons don’t feel any sort of familiar affiliation, so it’s not due to the fact that Samael and Maveth are _also_ siblings: no, the rush stems entirely from the bond between Lucifer and Azrael, from Lucifer’s terror at the scene he just witnessed, his concern, his soul-crushing misery at what he knows it means.

Samael catches Azrael's freefalling body on his back before it can hit the ground. Lucifer gathers her, still breathing, in his arms and climbs off the dragon as soon as they land, now completely ignoring the way the scars throb with the motion.

Bodies are scattered everywhere: of demons, dragons, angels he can’t even recognize, unable to tell who survived (until he'll see them again in battle down the line). It's a massacre he caused to avoid another one – should he have come alone? But no, the king’s army would have been too much to tackle on his own. This… this couldn’t be avoided.

But in the back of his mind, he knows it’s a lie. He betrayed his family. He chose humans over them. Does it matter that his family betrayed him first?

He lowers Azrael to the ground in time to see her dying, cradling what is left of her impossibly small body in his arms as he kneels among the chaos. Through the sobs, he’s almost grateful for it: for her to suffer any longer than this would be a cruelty, one he would be forced to put an end to at a high cost for his sanity.

“Smell you later, Rae-Rae,” he croaks, laughing through the tears at her ridiculous expression (_Like a dragon!_) – one he'll never hear or say again. “Forgive me, my darling, my dearest.”

_Or don’t_, he thinks bitterly to himself, _because I don’t deserve it._

There is no Heaven for her to go, not anymore: it’s where his ancestors come from, but just like Hell, that place now lies beyond a sealed barrier between worlds, with only the one in the middle left to inhabit. Yet he still makes the wish for her to rest peacefully among the stars – _Please, let her be light._

Amenadiel finds him like this, whispering it again and again to himself, praying to a non-existent deity. Mortals might see them as such, or worship other entities, but the truth is that there are no gods listening to any of them; and the ones mistaken for divine are violent and cruel, and have no mercy.

Lucifer looks up, shaking like a leaf. Probably from size alone, Amenadiel recognizes the corpse in his arms, his face twisting in horror and heartbreak. He must have come precisely to chase after Azrael, after noticing too late that she had left.

“I- I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Lucifer stammers, because Amenadiel needs to know, he _must_ know. “I didn’t- Amenadiel, brother, please-”

“Don’t call me that. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Which is nothing new, not after the way he looked away from Lucifer’s suffering, but in this moment, Lucifer’s rage is reduced to embers. All he can think is: _What have I done?_

Without even knowing it, Amenadiel answers his question. “You unleashed _demons_ upon the world. What did you think would happen? How could you be so reckless?”

“I- I needed to do something! I needed to stop him!”

_I needed to punish him._

Amenadiel scoffs. “That you did.” He stares at the madness spread all around them, which seems to suggest Lucifer's… subjects got the upper hand. “You got what you wanted. You defeated us. Get back to your city of demons, and don’t ever come looking for those of us who are left.”

And Lucifer will do as instructed. His siblings will be the ones to rebuild their strength and come looking for him in time, intent on rescuing their precious king, or maybe assuming Lucifer executed him and therefore thinking that he deserves further punishment.

Samael takes him back to the Dragonfort, but Lucifer doesn’t even remember the flight. It will take him a while to register what is happening around him again, and to realize that at some point during the Battle of the Field of Fire, he should have burned, too, but didn’t.

Just his bloody luck, as always.

~🔥~

Chloe stares at Mazikeen, speechless. She has been silent the whole time, listening to the demon’s tale. Now it’s over, and she can’t breathe.

All the pieces fit together, but the picture is no less ugly because of it.

_Someone needs to keep them contained, and that someone is me. They are my responsibility now._

_Feels like a waste of time to me for someone who can fly anyway._

_He’s not even a real angel anymore._

_I want them back. I miss them, so much._

_The part of me that did that to him… it’s bad. It’s monstrous, even._

_I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to accept it anyway. Accept_ me.

“Oh, Lucifer,” she whispers, her heart bleeding for him. So many things gone wrong, so many awful mistakes, but was he the one to start? He was just a boy, eager and curious and in love with humanity. Who is really to blame for all this? For initiating the chain of events that led to so much death?

He probably wanted revenge, she knows it, knows _him_. But underneath it all, he wanted to do _good_, to save innocent people, members of the very species that betrayed his own; one he keeps coming back to with the belief that humans are so much more than that. And he did save those people, at such a high personal cost.

Lucifer is not evil. He wanted to _punish_ evil, as he does to this day. He was forced to make a terrible, terrible decision that quite literally backfired on him. And as immune to dragonfire as he is, the burn has never healed. Even though she could not understand them, Chloe has heard his nightmares. She knows.

“Where is he?” she chokes, pleading Maze with her eyes. “Mazikeen, where is he?”

She needs to hug him, she needs to kiss him, she needs to tell him she understands. He is not perfect, but neither is she. She won’t be the one to judge, not after knowing how much self-loathing he already carries in his heart and why. The depth of his suffering compels her to vow that _she_ won’t be the one to hurt him any further.

How could she have thought him a senseless murderer, a violent, ungrateful prince hell-bent on taking his father’s place? How could she have even considered him capable of harming her or her daughter?

Instead of answering, Mazikeen walks to her desk and retrieves the paper she left there before telling her story. Then she hands it over to Chloe, who is sitting on the edge of her bed. As Chloe reads the parchment, though, the demon decides to voice its contents anyway.

“He made you Commander of the City Watch, and made me regent in his place. He left, Chloe. He’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (me sharing info while I pretend you don’t want to kill me) As an explanation for the dragon names, Maveth (Azrael's dragon) is the Hebrew word for “death”, while Kyrios (Hashem's dragon) is Greek for “the Lord”. Finally, I am sharing art again today! Check out this [cover](https://venividivictorious.tumblr.com/post/615578949712527360/so-if-any-of-yall-have-not-read-violentends) the lovely venividivictorious made for this fic ❤
> 
> And now, let the yelling begin xD (but spoiler alert: of couuurse he’s coming back!)


	14. The Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe brings Lucifer back to the Dragonfort.

Chloe stares at the paper, then at Mazikeen, then back down at the paper. An official document, signed and stamped with the symbol of House Morningstar, the same coiled dragon that adorns her armor while on duty. The words are clear, leaving no room for argument: specific orders from an abdicating ruler giving his last instructions before exiling himself.

And yet, despite the material proof in her hands, she needs to ask, “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Mazikeen leans against the edge of her desk, crosses her arms and sighs. “I mean, I don’t think he’s coming back. Probably ever, although I will say, he does have a tendency for the dramatic. But he put us in charge, as you can see. The clever little shit – now I can’t even be mad at him for promoting you, considering what he made _me_.”

It didn’t truly sink in before, but it does now: Chloe is Commander of the City Watch. It’s not a silly nickname anymore, it’s fact, and she knows she earned it. But she can’t really enjoy the pride she feels, because the appointment was Lucifer’s parting gift. Because Lucifer is gone. He’s _gone_. Out there, alone and… well, not really alone, but in pain. Pain _she_ caused.

“What _did_ you tell him, anyway?” Maze wonders. “I mean, it must have been pretty bad.”

“And whose fault is that?” Chloe snaps, barely stopping herself from crumpling the paper in her hand and toss it in the demon’s face – a petty, ridiculous gesture just to vent her frustration. “Why didn’t you lead with that whole story when you _showed_ me, mm?”

Maze flinches at her tone, gripping the edge of the desk behind her; an aborted motion as she keeps from attacking, like her instincts must certainly be telling her. A predator deciding to let the prey get away almost to reward its boldness.

“I did it to protect him, but deep down, I wanted to hurt him,” she admits eventually, with more honesty than Chloe expected, and way more vulnerability. “I was angry with him… because of you. I thought he was making a mistake by trusting you.”

Chloe scoffs bitterly and looks away. “And as it turns out, maybe you were right.”

A tense moment of silence follows. Then, quietly, Mazikeen asks, “Do you love him?”

Chloe’s eyes fall on her again. After Marcus having the nerve to state it so plainly, now even a _demon_ wants to be let in on her feelings?

“You surprise me, Mazikeen. I thought you didn’t believe in romance.”

“I don’t _do_ romance,” the Lilim corrects her. “Well, none of us, really. But he isn’t like us. For a while, I think he pretended to be, just to feel like he was part of something. After losing… you know, after…”

Chloe will never tell her, but to see her so emotional about it is terribly endearing. She can’t imagine what it must have been like to witness that, to see him suffer like that. No matter how weirdly, no matter how misguided her way of showing it has been, Mazikeen cares deeply for Lucifer – the most human trait about her, to be sure.

“Yeah, I know. Go on.”

Mazikeen clears her throat, giving her a grateful look. “But he’s not a demon. Violence doesn’t give him satisfaction: it’s just… a necessary evil, to him. And he needs… well, I don’t exactly _know_ what he needs, but I'm pretty sure you’ll figure it out. So. Do you love him?”

Chloe never admitted it out loud. She never even acknowledged it to herself, in fairness. It’s a weakness, this anger she feels at the thought of how much he’s been hurt, this dread that suffocates her at the mere idea of anything else happening to him. It’s the same weakness that’s been living within her ever since becoming a mother: this constant worry lodged in her chest no matter what she’s doing.

Because the world is cruel, and Lucifer’s is even crueler, moved by laws she doesn’t fully understand. Because Lucifer belongs to a different species, one that raised him to despise hers. Yet he grew to be caring, selfless, compassionate in his own way, and Chloe finally understands how wrong that mountain preacher from her travels was.

She was never tricked by the beauty of the outside, and Lucifer does not disguise himself as an angel of light. The darkness that lies within him flies on black, leathery wings for everyone to see, and despite her struggle, Chloe fell for that, too.

“I do,” she gives up, almost breathless as she says it. “I need to find him, Maze. I need to bring him back. If you know a way, please, tell me.”

Is it friendship, this thing growing between them? It has to be some stilted version of it, at least, because Mazikeen’s gaze is warmer than it has ever been. Chloe suspects this underlying sense of distrust will never truly dissipate: their shared affection for Lucifer is bringing them together, more than any real wish for companionship, but she finds she doesn’t mind and Maze certainly doesn’t, either.

“I could send out a search party, but who knows how long that would take. There is another, quicker way to contact Lucifer: I'm not sure he will answer, but still, it’s worth a shot. All you have to do is-”

The door of the bedchamber bursts open violently, startling them both. This time, Mazikeen leaps like the predator she is, twin curved blades in hand. Chloe stands up from the bed and unsheats her sword out of instinct: Lucifer would return on dragonback before coming to find them, and he hasn’t.

In fact, it’s not him. And even Mazikeen, as fierce as she is, falters on the spot.

Dromos walks into the room, sword pressed against Trixie’s throat where she’s standing in front of him, held in place by one scaled arm around her shoulders. Many other demons rush in to surround Maze and Chloe, forcing them close to one another in the middle. Then, Marcus steps in from the door, his face twisted in annoyance and exasperation.

“You just had to ruin it, didn’t you?” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. Chloe stares at him in shock, her eyes shifting back and forth between him and her terrified daughter – this can’t be true, but it is, and she can’t breathe. “You just _had_ to scare him away somehow. Well, congratulations, Chloe. You just made everything _messier_ now.”

Chloe struggles to form a coherent thought that isn’t _My baby, my everything, no, please_, so what she ends up with is a stunned, “Marcus, what- what are you doing?”

“Drop your weapons,” the man she thought was her friend says, ignoring her question. At hers and Maze’s hesitation, Dromos clutches Trixie harder against him, making her whimper a small, scared, “Mom?”

Chloe’s sword falls to the floor – there is no other option, for her. It’s that weakness she carries inside, the ultimate downfall. She once thought that would be Lucifer, but she was wrong.

“I'm here,” she tells her daughter, keeping eye-contact with her even as demons force her arms behind her back to tie her wrists together with a tight rope. Next to her, Mazikeen surrenders too, but on her they cleverly decide to go with heavy chains.

“You can’t do this!” the Lilim protests as her own kind betrays her, for the promise of what, it’s unclear. “Lucifer made me regent. You follow _my_ orders now, you fucking idiots!”

Marcus seems to notice the parchment on the bed where Chloe left it. He walks toward it, picks it up and reads quickly. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he concludes then, before tearing it into thin strips that pitifully land at his feet, useless.

Given his hurry, it’s likely that Lucifer didn’t inform anyone else about it; and even if he did, another rebellion is clearly unfolding under their eyes in his absence. The demons in the room are both from Chloe’s City Watch and Mazikeen's Princeguard and Dragon Army, mixed with others of lower status: if they get out of this, a purge will be necessary.

“Take her to the dungeons with the others,” Marcus orders, gesturing at Maze. Chloe watches the warrior be dragged out of the room, kicking and growling, but clings to the hope that just blossomed in her chest at the words. _The others_. If Mazikeen isn’t the only demon against this coup, it means they are not alone in this and that some might come to the rescue. Right?

“To the throne room,” Marcus says once Maze is out, and right on cue, both Chloe and Trixie are forced to move. When they find themselves close, as the demons pushing Chloe forward fall in line with Dromos, Trixie looks up at her and speaks.

“Mom, I think I know what I was supposed to remember,” she whispers in a secretive, conspiratorial tone. “Marcus is evil.”

~🔥~

Just like that very first day, ominous dragon skulls greet them when they enter the huge hall, the many colors from the windows and overhead dome dancing on their surfaces as the morning light streams through. Back then, Chloe had been intimidated by them; now, she wishes they would come alive to protect her. Protect _them_.

Betrayal and shame burn in her throat as she walks. She should be able to see right through people, to notice signs of ill intentions; yet she fell for Marcus' whole act like a fool, going as far as leaving Trixie back at the house of a woman whom she clearly shouldn’t have trusted, either. Was she that desperate for friendship? Wasn’t Ella’s affection enough?

_Ella_. Chloe can’t help but fear for her safety, too, for her quirky friend and her dreams of alchemy in the face of the life she was handed. She hopes the serving staff is only locked up somewhere, unharmed.

They stop right under the dais where the throne sits. Now that she knows everything, Chloe is painfully aware that they are probably standing where Lucifer’s wings were cut off his back, surrounded by the memory of a mess of blood and feathers. Her anger about it has not subsided. It probably never will.

Demons push her to her knees, but facing the other way, toward the entrance. One stays at her side to guard her while the others retreat behind her, but she can’t know for sure whether they left or remained in the far corners of the room. It’s too big to be taken in all at once, and besides, she can’t tear her eyes off Dromos' blade still under Trixie’s chin. The two stand next to Marcus, facing her, their backs to the main door.

“Let her go, Marcus,” she pleads, her heart beating frantically. “I- I'll do whatever you want.”

It’s such a dangerous statement in her position, but she doesn’t regret it. In any case, the man is not impressed.

“I doubt you’d be this willing to humor me without her here, so forgive me, but I can’t do that. Either way, there _is_ something I need you to do. A very simple thing.” A pause, Dromos gripping Trixie’s shoulders more tightly. “Pray to him. Call him here.”

Chloe gapes at him. Is this what Maze was about to tell her back in her bedroom? That all she needs to do is… pray to Lucifer?

“Mom, don’t do it!” Trixie yelps – so much courage in such a tiny body, too much for her own good. “He will hurt him!”

Yes, and more to the point, he will be _able_ to hurt him. Because Chloe is here. And Marcus must be aware of it.

_For someone like him, it’s hard to find a person to explore his more... human side, so to speak. A person to be vulnerable with._

“What do you want to do to him?” she asks in a low voice, furious. Sometimes, despite the circumstances, that weakness becomes strength, anger, a fire that burns from within. She might not have a dragon to channel it, but it’s no less real.

Once again, Marcus doesn’t answer. “Pray to him, Chloe. Tell him what I'm doing. Tell him to come here and bring his blades, but to leave his dragon at a safe distance. Think about what you have to lose here.”

Oh, Chloe is thinking about it already. She has _everything_ to lose here, and she’s probably going to lose something either way. Someone. _His blades…_

She remembers them, left against the wall when she helped him out of his clothes after battle before kissing him for the first time, shiny and slick with angelic blood.

She remembers how quickly Lucifer told her he started healing in flight, and how slowly he did once he was back in her company: she had to stitch the cut herself, and it took _days_ to close.

With her physically unable to put distance between them, if severely struck, he'll bleed to death before his body can catch up. And the ridiculous part is that Marcus doesn’t even _need_ to use angelic blades: Chloe makes Lucifer so vulnerable, so helpless, so terrifyingly human, that his skin opened to the press of a _needle_ because of her.

She's going to betray him. She’s going to get him killed.

“How do I do this?” she asks as her heart breaks.

A grin spreads across Marcus' face. “Just close your eyes and focus. Picture him in your mind and speak to him. Believe me, he'll hear you. I bet no one has ever done it before.”

Chloe does as instructed. She imagines him on the dragon he desperately wanted to ride with her before everything fell apart, with the wind in his face and in his hair, a perfect picture out of a book of legends and myths; a prince coming to the rescue, but she is no princess, and she’s not sure there will be any rescue. With her thoughts, she describes what is happening, then adds a heartfelt apology about the fight they had before Lucifer left.

Slowly, she opens her eyes again. She didn’t feel anything different, no specific sensation letting her know the message was received or even sent. What if Lucifer is immune to her praying just as she’s immune to the power of his eyes? How does it work, this thing between them?

“How do I know he heard?” she asks out loud. For some reason, Marcus seems more versed than her in all things… magical, or angelic, or whatever they are.

“You can’t. All we can do is wait.”

And so, they do.

~🔥~

They have been flying for hours at this point, and what used to be the night sky is now bright and sunny. It’s not like Samael minds, per se, but he knows that Lucifer is upset. His master’s legs are numb and aching, yet he wants to keep going, to reach that point past exhaustion where he’s not able to feel or think anything anymore.

Their wandering has been leading them back and forth across the sky, an indication of the fact that the angel doesn’t actually know where he intends to go or even if he wants to leave at all.

_We should go back_, Samael has been telling him. _You should go talk to her_.

_No_, has been the answer, time and time again until Samael grew tired of it and left Lucifer to his thoughts.

There is anger in his master’s soul, but not the same there was back then: it’s a different kind of heartbreak, mixed with ramblings about fate and manipulations, about a gift laced with poison and deception. Lucifer’s thoughts chase each other in circles without ever reaching a conclusion, and it’s very, _very_ frustrating, but such is the price to pay for the bond they have: that all burdens, whether they like it or not, weigh on them both.

Then, suddenly, something else slithers its way in, like rain trickling in through a crack in the ceiling. No, _someone_. Samael recognizes the voice because Lucifer does, but he also remembers the very first time he was close to her, when she hurriedly left the room at the mere sight of him. Easier times, those, back when Lucifer didn’t have _her_ on his mind constantly; but sadder ones, too.

_Lucifer, it’s me._

Samael feels the name in his bones even before his master can give shape to the sound.

_Chloe._

Anticipation courses in the dragon's veins and stops his flight. He stays frozen in mid-air, wings flapping lazily to keep them both there as they wait.

_I am not sure you can hear me, but I hope you can. I… I need your help. Marcus Pierce wants something from you, I don’t know what. He- he’s threatening Trixie. I think he will kill her if you don’t come back._

The anguish they both sense in the words is overwhelming. Lucifer, not used to any voice being in his head aside from Samael’s, hunches over on the saddle, clutching at black, warm scales as his breathing speeds up.

Instructions follow. Things he has to bring, things he has to leave behind; mainly, Samael himself. The dragon grumbles, not liking this one bit. He has to leave his master unprotected, _again_? Don’t they understand how much it costs him to do so? The last time he had to, Lucifer lost his angel wings. What will he lose this time?

There is a pause in the prayer; for a moment, they both think it’s over. Then, _Maze told me everything, by the way_, Chloe’s voice echoes, and Lucifer’s grip on Samael’s scales turns so strong that if he could bleed from it, he would.

_I'm not terrified anymore. I'm not terrified of you. I'm sorry._

Relief washes over Lucifer in a gentle wave, easing some of the tension in his muscles. He chuckles to himself, breathless, before a cloud of misery settles over him again as he remembers his discovery in the king’s tower. Samael struggles to grasp the details, too muddled and twisted by Lucifer’s utter confusion, but all he needs to know is that his angel is suffering; and because of it, he is suffering, too. When Michael’s blade struck, it was like having his own wings bitten off his back.

But no matter Lucifer’s reservations after the latest developments, Samael knows what he will decide. The dragon starts to turn around even before feeling the command: there is nothing else to do, really, and despite his frustration at being left on the sidelines, he can’t help but agree.

_Take me to her._

He follows the order. Somehow, it feels like the last.

~🔥~

Marcus paces back and forth. Dromos squirms, adjusting his grip around the hilt of his sword and Trixie's frame. Chloe shifts on her knees to try and soothe the ache, balancing herself on one and then the other, and uselessly attempts to free her wrists behind her back, only scraping them raw in the process.

“He could take hours,” she tries to reason with Marcus. “Let her at least rest in a cell. I'll stay here and wait with you.”

But Pierce doesn’t want to hear it. Everyone stays, he says, no matter how long it will take. “He'll be here soon, don’t worry,” he reassures her, though it doesn’t feel like a reassurance at all. “That thing will fly faster than it ever has in its life.”

A weird thing happens, one that would have shocked her before: her bristling at the specific choice of words. _That thing_. She wouldn’t call it fondness, but she does feel protective, somehow: maybe not of the dragon himself, but of what he means to Lucifer. Especially after learning that he’s been wingless this whole time, the bond between the two is heartbreakingly endearing.

“Does all this have something to do with that creepy horn under your bed?” Trixie pipes up suddenly, managing to sound both curious and bored despite the blade pressed against her throat. Chloe’s brow furrows at her very peculiar words, and Marcus turns to look at the girl, intrigued.

“Ah. I was wondering how long my spell was going to last.”

His casual tone enrages Chloe almost more than the words themselves, but not quite. “You cast a spell on my _daughter_?” she thunders as her brain starts processing the information and what it might mean. She has never believed in this sort of stuff, but now she sees it as yet another lapse in judgement, her way of underestimating a serious threat by acting as if it didn’t exist. Especially after moving to this city, she should have known better.

“Calm down, she’s _fine_,” Marcus replies with a roll of his eyes. “It wasn’t in my plans, but I had to improvise when I found her snooping.”

Chloe finally sees it. All the times Trixie said she was _sure_ there was something important she should remember, something regarding Lucifer. Marcus erased her memory of whatever she saw, which means that this _is_ indeed about… whatever she just mentioned. A horn? For what?

She’s just about to ask precisely that when the distinct sound of a dragon landing in the yard startles them all. A few beats, and then the ground shakes again as the creature takes off.

He’s here. He’s here and Chloe is terrified, but _for_ him.

The intricately carved door of the throne room, mirroring the one at the very entrance of the palace, bursts open under a push of inhuman force. Lucifer rushes in, reaching them in quick, angry strides, positively _furious_.

His hair is disheveled from the flight, his cheeks flushed from the wind slashing at his face, and from the dark circles under his eyes it’s clear he has not slept. He’s wearing the same silver circlet and dark grey attire he had on when they fought, but with the leather straps holding his twin blades crisscrossing over his chest. It’s not like he left for battle, but presumably, he wanted to stay safe.

Chloe feels a surge of relief at the sight of him, despite the circumstances and the mood he’s in. He came back. Maybe they’ll find a way out of this and then talk things out. Maybe, not all hope is lost.

She can see that he’s clearly trying not to look at her or Trixie, as not to show how much he cares. “I'm here,” he announces, addressing Marcus. “Let them go now, and you and I can discuss…” – a dismissive wave of his hand – “..whatever it is that you want.”

“Why does everyone keep asking me the same thing?” Marcus scoffs. “We are all staying here, to have a little chat. Now, first order of business. Promise me you won’t call your dragon here, Your Majesty. Give me your word.”

He’s pushing him into a corner, the clever bastard. Lucifer does not lie. When he silently agreed to leave Samael behind, he didn’t actively have to say anything. But if he does now, he won’t break his oath.

Clenching his fists, the prince states coldly, “I won’t call him here. You have my word, and my word is my bond.”

“Perfect.” Marcus grins. “Now you’ll hand over your blades, if it pleases you, Your Grace.”

He snaps his thumb and middle finger in the air, and on cue, a demon appears in Chloe’s field of vision from behind her. Lucifer looks at him with disdain as he approaches, outraged at the evident betrayal of his subjects.

“Bloody Squee,” he mutters through gritted teeth as he raises his arms in surrender, letting the hunched, trembling demon unsheat his swords from the scabbards at his back. “Have I ever treated you unfairly?”

“N-no, my Lord, never,” the demon mumbles, earning a disgusted noise from Dromos. “You need to understand, they- they would have killed me!”

“Then pray I don’t make it out of here, or _I_ will.”

Squee swallows at the threat, then makes to leave the room, but Marcus stops him with a raised hand and gestures for him to come closer. When the demon does, Marcus picks up one of the swords and sends him on his way with the other. He tests his grasp around the carved hilt in his hand, swinging the weapon smoothly in the air in a series of curved motions.

“Having fun?” Lucifer sneers, his arms still lifted, his body shaking with nervous energy.

“Oh, I have just begun,” Marcus replies, stilling. Then, he once again snaps the fingers of his free hand, and demons Chloe hadn’t even noticed suddenly appear from behind the biggest dragon skulls along the sides of the hall, previously concealed by the gigantic bones. At least ten from each side, they attack Lucifer simultaneously, and so violently that for a moment she can’t even see him under a writhing, shrieking mass of bodies.

“Lucifer!” both she and Trixie cry out, panicking.

Demons fly left and right as they get thrown across the room, then pounce again, and it doesn’t seem like there will be a clear winner. Then, others join in, carrying a heavy chain like the one used to hold Maze. Lucifer is too busy struggling to notice, and he gets immobilized just in time for them to sling it around him again and again, binding his arms against his sides.

He ends up on his knees just like Chloe, unable to move. The two groups of demons settle on either side of him to keep the chain taut and tight, making him grunt from the painful pressure.

Every breath and flinch is cut short by the heavy restraint, the muscles of his chest and arms bulging through the gaps between the hoops. If Marcus wants to kill him, he’s certainly taking his sweet time.

“Now,” the man resumes as he tucks Lucifer’s sword in the empty scabbard at his hip, “it’s finally time to test my theory. There is no such thing as too much caution, but still… I don’t even _need_ this to hurt you, do I?”

So it’s as she suspected. Somehow, Marcus knows of her effect on him, either from observing them together or from some kind of superior knowledge that comes from practicing magic. With this certainty, another one strikes her: Marcus has been pushing her to get closer to Lucifer on purpose the whole time. To make him vulnerable.

To make him mortal.

Instead of replying, the dragonlord gives a bitter chuckle, challenging Marcus to try. The man walks closer to the angel and suddenly puts his hand in his pocket. Then he takes out what looks like an array of rings, the shapes uneven and cut in a rough, jugged fashion.

“Marcus,” Chloe breathes, sensing where this is going, as he starts wearing them one by one around the fingers of his right hand. “Marcus, there is no need to-”

She shuts her eyes when the slap comes, as if she was the one receiving it. The sound of metal hitting bone is sickening, as well as Lucifer’s sudden sound of discomfort. When Marcus steps aside to reveal Lucifer’s face, the angel is looking away with his jaw clenched. An angry, bleeding cut is now evident across his left cheek, from his cheekbone almost all the way to the corner of his mouth.

Chloe feels so guilty it’s almost choking her. Around them, Dromos and the other rebelling demons snicker triumphantly.

Lucifer heaves a few breaths, flinching as he gets used to the pain, then turns to look at Marcus with a wolfish grin. “Well _done_, you,” he congratulates him mockingly. “So, what is this about, eh? ‘Cause if you want my throne, you might have caught me in the right mood to just hand it over to you, to be quite honest.”

It pains Chloe to realize that he must still be angry with her, or better, hurt. And still, he came back, knowing something like this would happen.

Marcus laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, no, I'm not interested in _that_ kind of power. So tedious. Your demons can govern themselves… well, hopefully. But thank you for offering, Your Grace, truly.”

“Right,” Lucifer comments dryly, clearly losing his patience. Then, his gaze turns focused, heated. “So tell me… what is it you desire?”

Despite Marcus facing the other way, Chloe can sense Lucifer’s power working on him, the man's body tensing before giving in as the truth spills out of his lips.

“I want your dragon,” is the answer, completely unexpected even for Lucifer judging by his raised eyebrows. “I want Samael to be mine. I want to rule the skies and the land, and for _everyone_ to fear me.”

As absurd as it sounds, Chloe doesn’t expect Lucifer to laugh, yet it’s exactly what he does. Out of breath from the pressure of the chain around him, he chuckles to himself before the sound shifts to outright cackling, tears of mirth at the corners of his eyes.

“What?” he asks through the laughter, almost falling to one side before the demons restraining him adjust their hold and pull him back. “That’s just _preposterous_! Are you an idiot, or just delusional?”

Chloe can’t share his enthusiasm. There is something too certain in Marcus' demeanor, especially when he nonchalantly asks, “Why do you say that, Your Majesty?”

Lucifer’s laughter finally dies down. What is left is total, unashamed mockery, mixed with that flame of pride that is inherently his.

“He can’t be _yours_, you pitiful dimwit. He’s not _mine_, either: he is _me_. What do you take him for, a bloody pet? A dog you can lure to you with the promise of food and a cuddle? Purebred dragons don’t accept new riders, not even after their angels die, and I can assure you none would accept a silly mortal like _you_.”

Marcus steps aside to wink at Trixie, who glares at him in response from Dromos' unyielding hold. Then he lifts his long white shirt, giving a glimpse of his lower back, and produces an object he was clearly keeping tucked between his skin and the hem of his trousers.

“What if I told you there is a way?” he says, showing Lucifer what is indeed a horn, black and with a stream of weird, glowing letters along the sides. “What if I told you this will bind my soul to his?”

Lucifer hesitates. Chloe watches him try to read the letters and probably succeed, or at least recognize them. There is fear in his eyes now, though he’s clearly hoping to conceal it under a mocking tone.

“Your soul is so weak, your skull would cave in just from trying,” he whispers, but he’s panicking; it’s terrifying, how obvious it is.

_Dragons are creatures of chaos_, the prince explained to her once. _They need a strong soul to latch onto, and demons have no souls_.

Which means that once they decided they wanted to get rid of Lucifer, they had to find someone with a soul to make sure Samael would be dealt with, scared of the dragon's possible retaliation. And with no angel available, they had to settle for a human versed in spells and sorceries. Even the mere possibility must be unfathomable, for Lucifer. World-shattering.

“No, it will not,” Marcus sneers, stroking the carved side of the artifact almost tenderly. Trixie’s eyes, which have seen it before, as it turned out, are huge as she listens to the man's words and follows his movements.

“All I have to do is kill you before I blow it, and my soul will replace yours at the reins. So say your goodbyes, Lucifer of House Morningstar, the First of His Name, the Unburnt, Prince of Darkness, the Adversary, Firebringer, Son of the Dawn and Tamer of Dragons or however else you wish to be called. Because your long, long life ends today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will it, Marcus? Will it, really? ;)


	15. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus tries to enact his plan, but not everything goes as expected, for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter the story has been leading up to in my mind, because it contains the one scene I had in my head from the very beginning! It took me a long time to get it right, and I hope it delivers. A lot of talking ahead, but also a lot of action!

It’s funny, though in this case not really, how people can have very different reactions to the exact same words. _Your long, long life ends today._

Chloe feels a chill run down her spine. Her palms are clammy with cold sweat, her whole body frozen where she’s kneeling on the floor with her wrists bound behind her back. It’s almost as if it’s shutting down: trying not to feel, trying to protect her mind from shock.

Trixie, instead, probably lacks the self-control; or more likely, she couldn’t care less about suffering as long as she gets to voice what she’s thinking. The curse of being young, and maybe also a blessing in its own way.

“You are insane! You can’t do this! I don’t want Lucifer to die! You on a dragon would be _lame_!”

Heedless of the sword at her throat, her daughter squirms and tries to push Dromos' arm away, going as far as biting into it. Dromos lets out a growl and releases her for a moment, only to grab her by the hair and pull her back against him. This, of course, wakes Chloe from her daze.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” she snarls, shifting forward on her knees to get closer, promptly followed by the unnamed demon watching over her. Trixie cries out from the nails keeping her head in place, her hands uselessly scratching at Dromos' arm.

“_Dromos!_” Lucifer calls, low and loud at the same time, his deep voice echoing off the walls. “Let go of the child, _now_.”

His eyes are red, blazing from within. Chloe has never seen them like this before. Seething, he pins the demon to the spot with his gaze, until Marcus walks closer to him and waves a finger in front of his face, chastising.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he croons, “don’t do that, my prince. I know he can see through your eyes when you do that. We wouldn’t want him to be angry, now, would we?”

As a gesture of good will, he snaps his fingers at Dromos, who finally lets go of Trixie’s hair to resume his previous position, still keeping her hostage but not hurting her at least. Chloe will never forget that this particular demon once raised a whip to try and hit them both. Who knows what he'll get up to without Lucifer holding him back. It must be why they’re doing all this: freedom to express their darkest instincts. Lucifer already “freed” them once, but apparently it’s not enough.

“He’s already angry,” the angel informs Marcus as his eyes turn back to brown. But they are no less furious, no matter the color.

“Ah, well, good thing I'll fix that soon enough,” Pierce comments almost matter-of-factly, turning back toward Chloe with a sly grin as he once again hides the horn from view. Lucifer’s whole body tenses so hard at the words, it feels as if the chain might actually break because of it. Chloe wants to hug him so much her fingers itch with it. Oh, and kill Marcus. That, too.

“You can’t have him,” Lucifer protests, but it sounds small, heartbreakingly so. Chloe can’t help but notice the similarity with the story Maze told her, with the image of Lucifer pleading for his wings not to be taken from him. In a way, he might be about to lose another pair of them now; the only one he'll ever have.

Marcus walks to him and grabs his chin, forcing the angel to look him in the eye.

“He won’t even remember you once I'm done with this,” he promises, and no matter how true, the words ring unbearably cruel. “He won’t even know you were ever there.”

Pierce releases Lucifer’s chin, the prince’s jaw clenching. Then he unsheats the sword he stole from him and teases them all, dragging it across the floor before pointing it in Lucifer’s direction.

“But before I take care of that,” he continues, “I am _dying_ to know what drove you away, Your Majesty. Indulge me. Why did you leave?”

Why does it even matter? Chloe is pretty sure the exasperation she can see on Lucifer’s face is also evident on hers. Being toyed with like this is excruciating.

Lucifer scoffs. “How is that any of your bloody b-”

This time, Chloe doesn’t anticipate the slap. It hits in the exact same place across Lucifer’s cheek, but he must have bitten the inside of it, surprised by the blow. He grunts and spits blood on the floor, and red lingers at the corner of his mouth. The bloody bruise on the side of his face turns darker, larger, uglier.

“That’s enough!” Chloe objects, though she is in no position to do so.

She wishes, for once, that Lucifer was a liar, so Samael could smash through a wall and make fire rain on all those who are hurting him. A dangerous thought, a scenario that could go wrong in so many ways, but also the proof that she’s starting to see the truth, finally, though clearly too late.

Samael is not a threat but an ally, and from the start, she should have only felt _safer_ because of him.

That’s when a thought strikes her. If she was able to send a message to Lucifer before, she can do it now, too. So while keeping an eye on Pierce, in her mind she focuses on the prince and asks him, _Can Samael hear me when I pray to you?_

Lucifer flinches slightly on the spot, clearly trying not to let it show. Apparently he can’t answer her mentally, because all he does is nod minutely, looking worried by her question. When Chloe continues, _Should I ask him to come, then?_ his expression changes to one of plain fear, and he shakes his head to say no. Is he still afraid Chloe won’t accept that side of him if she sees dragonfire at work, perhaps? Or does he fear that the situation might get out of hand and put them in danger?

Either way, Chloe assumes the dragon will have to respect his wishes, as misguided as they may be, especially after sensing their brief exchange. Somehow, they will have to find a way out of this mess on their own, but she doesn’t see any.

In the meantime, instead of cold and calculating as usual, Marcus looks irritated by Lucifer’s refusal to open up to him. “I’ve always addressed you respectfully, _Magnificence_,” he warns, using the most overly pompous title reserved to the prince, “so you'll do me the courtesy of returning the favor. Keep in mind, I only need your precious _Commander_ alive for you to die.”

Red flashes in Lucifer’s eyes again, but doesn’t stay. He shifts on his knees as if trying to leap to his feet, threatening, but the demons on either side of him pull at the chain and squeeze his body tighter in its hold, almost knocking the breath out of him.

“So, answer the question. Why did you leave? I was so sure you two were taken by each other, just like I needed you to be. What went wrong? What did I fail to prevent? I like to learn from my mistakes, you see. It's the secret to a long, successful life.”

When Lucifer turns toward her, Chloe wishes she could look away from the sadness in his eyes, but she deserves it, and it’s hers to share.

“Mazikeen took her to see my father,” Lucifer tells Marcus, but staring at her all the while. “To… show her what I did to him, after he had my wings cut off. And she got scared. Of Samael, and of me.”

Chloe squirms, struggling against the bindings around her wrists. “Lucifer, I'm-”

“But that isn’t why I left,” he cuts her off, begging with his eyes for her to listen carefully. “Well, not entirely.” He swallows, licks his bloodied lips, stalls. “I went to see my father, too, after we fought. And he told me something about her that… that made me question everything I thought I knew.”

Chloe’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

Lucifer struggles to find the words, looking positively haunted. Marcus rolls his eyes and, surprisingly, fills in for him.

“Oh, I get it. You assumed that since she was born from a fertility potion a warlock made from angel blood, a potion _your_ father told _hers_ to get, your vulnerability is not… real. Not by your own merit, to be precise. Correct?”

Chloe looks at both of them in turn. What the- “What?!”

Her father’s face swims in front of her eyes, a blurred memory from the past. _My little miracle_, he used to call her when she was very young. All Chloe ever knew was that her mother had struggled a lot to grow heavy with child, until she eventually had. Because her father asked _Lucifer’s_ for advice? How?

But Lucifer is too shocked by something else to pay her any mind, something that stuns her, too, once he voices his doubt. “Wait a second. How do you know about this?” he asks Marcus, growing agitated.

Trixie’s voice comes as another shock after the girl’s prolonged silence, but it’s nothing compared to the actual words that tumble out of her mouth.

“Because he’s the warlock! He’s the one who made the potion, he has to be!” she exclaims, jumping as much as she can in her restrained position. “He has a weird book under his bed! It’s called… what was it… Potions… Ha-ha! _Blood Magic, Potions and Enchantments of the Dark Age_, yes! Don’t you get it? It all makes sense now!”

It certainly doesn’t, not to Chloe, at least. Suddenly, she feels lightheaded.

“But that’s… that’s not possible, Trix. Marcus is my age. To be able to do something like that before I was even born, he would have to be…”

“Immortal.” Lucifer slowly turns to stare at Marcus, his eyes wide. “You’re immortal.”

_It’s the secret to a long, successful life._

Marcus laughs, waving Lucifer’s sword in the air from one side to the other, encompassing them all.

“Oh, this is so _cute_. The two of you – no, _three_ of you – working together to solve a mystery! How delightful. You make quite a good team, I’ve always told you, Chloe. But I fear you’ll need a clue. One last piece for your very last investigation to come to an end.” He pauses for emphasis, savoring the moment. “Would it help if I told you my real name is Cain?”

Chloe thinks it over in her mind. The name does sound familiar, but in a very… distant way. Like the name of a character from a book or the hero of a ballad. Like a legend you don’t really believe in. And judging by the confusion on Lucifer’s face, a legend only known and spread among humans to warn against crimes and misdeeds, to little effect. So, she will have to be the one to make sense of this one.

“You killed your brother, Abel,” she recalls, her mind working incessantly to fish the memory from long ago – she doesn’t even know when she last heard the tale, but it’s there somewhere in her head. “But unbeknownst to you, he was in love with a sorceress, and she loved him, too. So she cursed you to roam the land for all eternity, unable to die, condemned to always lose whoever you'd grow to love.”

“Yes and no,” Marcus – _Cain_ – jumps in, pleased by her explanation but eager to provide more information. How long has he been waiting to reveal himself, Chloe wonders? How often does he get to tell his story in such detail?

“You see, magic is whatever divinity is left in this world. But when entrusted to the hands of a human, it’s flawed, imperfect. Therefore, all magic has either a weakness, or a cost. Take my memory spell: time weakened it until the effect inevitably wore off. Or take the horn: I can’t just use it to get what I want, I need to get my hands dirty first. For the same reason, all curses come with a way to be broken. Now, given my crime, grief-stricken Aclima was convinced I was _unable_ to love, so her solution was one she thought would never come to be: all I had to do to be allowed to die was _fall_ in love.”

Chloe tries to picture that moment in time, tries to imagine _him_ through the centuries, adapting to fashions and customs as they come into existence. A chameleon blending with the background, just like he blended in with the rest of the humans living here; so much so that she found him to be _ordinary_ when, in fact, he’s the farthest thing from it.

“For a while, I took her for a fool. I was happy, being permanently young and immortal, so I simply did my best not to get attached to anyone. But then, in time, I grew tired. Bored. With life, with people, with the world; with myself, especially.”

“No surprise there,” Trixie quips, but Cain thankfully ignores her. Chloe would kiss her if she could.

“I started to warm up to the possibility, to the idea of it. Of course it had to be spontaneous, so it took a while; but in the end, I did fall in love. And then… I couldn’t do it. Let myself grow old and die. It just seemed like too big a price to pay for a happiness that is fleeting, whereas my life could be endless instead.”

“So… I left. Hardened my heart, made sure it would never happen again. I became a Master of the Dark Arts to find fulfillment in them, although it always felt like I could have more, like I could be more powerful than I already was – powerful in a way no other human was allowed to be.”

“Until my father came to you,” Chloe slowly pieces everything together, “and when he asked you to use angel blood for my mother’s potion, you saw an opportunity. You knew or presumed that the resulting child would grow to make any angel mortal, leaving a purebred dragon riderless and easy for you to claim.”

The amusement in Cain’s gaze is infuriating. She has been a pawn, _his_ pawn, from the moment she first drew breath. She was born to be Lucifer’s downfall. Angels, demons, dragons and now monsters: Chloe has finally, hopefully met them all.

“But see, Chloe, that’s just it,” Cain says as he points a finger at her, and then at Lucifer. “You don’t make angels mortal, not all of them at least. Not by default. You’re just… immune to them. To their powers, to their charms. And I just _knew_ our little wingless prince here, adorably enamored with humans as he was, wouldn’t have been able to resist you if he ever met you. In this, his father read him so damn well. Too bad he didn’t anticipate that I would get to the same conclusion.”

Yes, too bad, indeed. Chloe is developing a headache from the thought of how many hands have been pulling strings behind both of their backs. Now she knows why Lucifer’s power doesn’t work on her, at least.

“So you had me watched, I imagine,” she reasons bitterly. “For how long? My whole life?”

Cain shrugs. “Pretty much. I am a very patient man, as you can imagine, and I have a lot of resources out there. Once your work got you closer to the city, I started tracking the Dragon Army and figured which towns it would fly over. I just had to pay some low-level, desperate fool to commit a crime and keep you running around for a while in that area, and with a bit of luck, I knew the dragons would end up causing trouble. And that you, so predictably fond of justice, would come here to make demands.”

Well, turns out Lucifer’s vulnerability isn’t the only thing he took advantage of. Chloe tries not to shiver at the discovery that she’s been watched and studied for this long, _assessed_ carefully in search of weak spots to exploit. She won’t apologize for who she is, either. She’d rather focus on making sense of the rest.

“So when I arrived at court, one of your spies told you Lucifer couldn’t get me to tell him what I desired, confirming that the potion worked. Then you, what, threatened Olivia Monroe so you could take her place and be here?”

“Just her mother,” Cain clarifies, as if it makes a difference. Oh, that’s right. The “sick mother” the previous head of staff suddenly had to take care of, when she left for a family visit and never came back, recommending dear old family friend Marcus as her replacement.

They have been idiots, fools, all of them, everyone in this wretched castle: Chloe and Lucifer, too busy falling for each other; and Mazikeen, too busy resenting them for the same reason, blinded by it despite her own precious life motto – _a fire dancer has to see everything_. As it turns out, the only one who got close to the truth on her own was _Trixie_, her smart little warrior.

After what now feels like ages, Lucifer speaks again. “This- this doesn’t change anything. _He_ made her what she is, and _you_ put her in my path and took advantage of it for your own gain. I never had a choice! You didn’t _give_ me a choice!”

So this is what his departure was truly about. Lucifer felt forced, manipulated into caring for her. Chloe can’t really say she blames him: the hand of fate was certainly steered, pushed where it needed to go. But… aren’t their feelings genuine? Aren’t they all that really matters? Is Lucifer’s hate for his father blinding him to this very simple fact?

Cain makes a ‘tsk' sound, repeatedly, like a parent scolding a naughty child.

“No, Your Majesty. This is precisely what I wanted to get at before bidding you goodbye. I want to make sure you know _this_ is all _your_ doing, not ours. Because no matter my efforts, it couldn't have worked without you doing your part.”

His voice takes a vicious, mocking tone of self-indulgent superiority, the words deliberately accusing.

“No one _forced_ you to seek her company. I always advised _her_ in that regard, not you. No one encouraged you to spend time with her, to go deliver justice throughout the city with her. None of this would be happening, and your dragon would stay yours, if you hadn’t let your _feelings_ get in the way. Because as the angel you still are, you are _made_ of magic, of divinity itself.”

_All magic has either a weakness, or a cost._

_Magic is whatever divinity is left in this world. But when entrusted to the hands of a human, it’s flawed, imperfect._

When entrusted to the hands of a… Oh. _Oh._

_“So, what have you found so far? You said you were doing research on your vulnerability around me.”_

_“Just an old tale called The Myth of Self-Actualization. It theorizes that angels can change their nature if exposed to certain stimuli, but I don’t fully understand why you would be that for me. My only explanation is that it’s because I spend a lot of time in your company.”_

No, it’s not because he _spends_ a lot of time in her company. It’s because he _wants_ to. She thinks she understands, now. She looks at Lucifer, and he does too, even before hearing it from Cain’s mouth.

“Chloe is the weakness to your magic, but only because _you_ let her get close to it. Because you gave her power over it – over _you_. Because you let her handle it, so to speak. And because in the hands of a human, your divinity, too, is not perfect. She is no different than any other: the difference is that, unlike me, _you_ were not strong enough not to fall in love with her.”

_Love_ is a word Lucifer has never used, but Chloe doesn’t need him to. As he looks at her in return, shocked and as lost, open and vulnerable as he has ever been, she gets it, she _knows_.

He wasn’t the victim of witchcraft, of a spell or a trick, and neither was she, beyond the concoction that made her come into the world. The spell is his nature, the trick is the flaw that lies in it, and the unknowing witch is her, the human he gave his heart to. He fell into a trap, yes, but mostly a trap of his own making – of _their_ making, the both of them naïve and unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

Lucifer loves her so much that his divinity itself crumbles because of it; like a broken curse, an incantation abruptly coming to an end.

The speech is finally over, it seems, but Cain takes his time to savor the despair he left behind, watching both of their faces for every minuscule expression. Seemingly satisfied, he swings Lucifer’s sword in a rotating motion, cutting the air, then walks around Lucifer’s kneeling figure, lifting one leg and then the other to bypass the taut line of metal rings that keeps him in place.

He positions himself behind the prince, sword raised with both of his hands around the hilt. Trixie starts crying softly to herself as the point hovers right above the nape of Lucifer’s neck, ready to be thrust between his scarred shoulder blades.

“Commander,” Lucifer whispers, his face scrunching up, eyes shining with unshed tears. He could have recited a poem one thousand words long, or sung all the romantic ballads he knows, and the emotion conveyed would probably have been less.

And now that it comes down to it, now that the words will just drift in the air and get lost, Chloe finds she doesn’t care about screaming prisoners and hellish flames, about dragons and burnt faces, about whatever prayer or potion or plan ended up bringing them together.

She loves him, too. She loves him, and it’s too late.

How terribly, frustratingly ridiculous and inadequate that the least she can do now is tell him.

“Lucifer,” she croaks, “I-”

The glass dome of the throne room shatters further ahead, between them and the entrance, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Samael lands so hard on the stone floor that it’s a struggle to keep upright, and roars so angrily that the walls shake.

Then all Hell breaks loose.

~🔥~

He came. Lucifer feared he would. There is a point, although not that definite, where his will ends and Samael’s begins; a fraction of soul that quite simply isn’t Lucifer’s to rule over. That is why dragonriding, even for angels, takes practice: it’s not enough to be connected, you have to be in _sync_, and reach a point where your dragon _decides_ to trust your judgement. Which is usually, no, _always_, the case with the two of them.

But when Lucifer lost his angel wings, his life was not in danger, and Samael was still young, as he was. While now, the dragon is a fearsome, majestic creature, and the other beasts populating the city are no match to the infamous Black Dread after Lucifer’s family moved away.

Besides, Lucifer swore not to _call_ him here; he never gave any reassurance on Samael’s own will. For all his knowledge of sorcery, this is where Cain’s smarts won’t help him, where he failed to understand the very creature he planned to ride: Samael is no puppet, and Lucifer has the _honor_ of being listened and obeyed by him, nothing more.

A lot of things can go wrong, especially if he starts to spit fire. The thought of the dragon involuntarily hurting Chloe or Beatrice in his fury was enough to convince Lucifer of the fact that this was not a viable option, not in such an enclosed space. Clearly Samael had different ideas, and despite his worries, at least in this moment Lucifer is grateful for it, because his landing creates the kind of distraction and panic that is needed.

The demon at Chloe’s side, clearly lacking motivation in the face of possible injury, runs away through one of the two doors positioned beyond the throne, followed by a few others. Beatrice, the delightful little rascal, elbows Dromos in his demonic nether bits, snatches his sword from his grip and turns around to cut across his belly, sending him falling and howling in pain, clutching at his bleeding stomach.

“Run!” Lucifer calls, but she is already, rushing behind her mother to cut the ropes binding her wrists. In the meantime, behind him, Samael hits the remaining demons with wings and tail, forcing Cain to run for cover to avoid his blows.

Less and less demons hold the chain binding Lucifer now, so he finally manages to stand up, but the bastards tighten it again and he falls face-first on the floor, writhing helplessly.

“Get out of here!” he hears Chloe tell her daughter, so he lifts his cheek from the ground to make sure the girl does. Beatrice reaches one of the doors behind the throne, but can’t push it open: those demons who fled right away must have locked them both from the other side.

He watches Chloe panic, then the Commander shouts, “Hide!”, and her offspring runs to crouch behind the imposing throne, hopefully protected from any harm.

Though with difficulty, Lucifer turns on his back to watch Samael lay waste to the demons trying to chase him away with useless spears and blades, just in time for his heart to stop at the sight of _other_ dragons, smaller but many in number, rush in through the shattered dome of the ceiling.

He recognizes them as the wildest ones, the most difficult ones, always kept heavily chained in the absence of their riders. Probably let loose on purpose to wreak havoc, the beasts attack Samael simultaneously much like demons did with him to chain him, their jaws angry and vicious, fueled by a primal need for destruction that was never truly tamed. It’s exactly the kind of mayhem that could go horribly, terrifyingly wrong for the guilty and the innocent alike; it’s precisely what Lucifer wanted to avoid, but he can’t be angry at Samael for wanting to intervene.

To defend himself, the dragon does the only thing he can do, and Lucifer can’t find it in himself to try and tell him not to: he spits fire. The temperature in the room rises, screams erupt from all sides, but at least finally, finally Lucifer feels the pressure of the chain decrease enough for him to wriggle free as his captors run for their lives or to their deaths, depending on their level of idiocy.

Lucifer takes a deep breath, feeling the increasingly stifling air fill his lungs, then leaps to his feet. Burnt bodies lie around him, some still emitting strangled and painful breaths, the scene reminiscent of another gruesome battlefield. He realizes he didn’t see _Chloe_ hide behind the throne before turning around toward the dragons, and the possibility of seeing _her_ charred corpse on the ground makes him choke from total, absolute _dread_.

But then, through the chaos, he finds her standing under the dais. He locks eyes with her, and time stops as he fully, truly takes her in. Chloe has Dromos' sword in her hand, a warrior ready to rush into battle; unfazed by the carnage around her, mindless of the very same fire that once scared her away. Her hair is loose, her cheeks are flushed, and she is beautiful, _beautiful_ as she stares at him in turn, beams and runs to him.

May the whole bloody world burn, he loves her so fucking much – screw everything they discovered, screw it all, he doesn’t care. Let her be a sorceress, the handler of his soul; let her cradle it in her palms and do whatever she wants with it, because it’s hers, it’s _hers_.

Lucifer takes a step toward her, his heart so full it could burst, feeling lighter now that his realization, his decision to quite simply move forward, has sunk in. That’s when a sudden, unbearable, searing pain shoots through him as Cain appears from behind a dragon skull and thrusts his blade right through his belly. He didn’t even notice him moving, that’s how thoroughly entranced by Chloe he was.

Cain holds the sword steady for good measure, pushing deep, clutching Lucifer’s own shoulder for leverage with his free hand as he grins victoriously. “I can’t wait for him to be mine,” the immortal bastard whispers in his ear as Lucifer heaves choking, rugged breaths, his own fingers shaking around the hilt of the sword buried in his middle while he stares down at it, horrified.

“_No!_” Chloe screams, running toward them. Lux – or Nox, he’s not sure, he didn’t pay attention – slips out of his stomach to leave him breathless, lightheaded, falling once again from sheer shock at how much it hurts.

It’s _more_, he knows it is: it’s as if his own blood is different, flowing faster, eager to leave his body. Is this what it really feels like to be mortal? Is this what it means to feel the spark of life abandon you?

“You will pay for this!” Chloe thunders, descending on Cain like an angry goddess of punishment; like an angel of vengeance with no dragon but the fury of a million raging fires inside of her.

For she has more light in her than all his family combined, feathers and all; and if this is the last time he sees her, it will be worth it just to be able to admire her like this, so similar to the fantasy of her he once entertained. She wears no armor and he will never get to ride Samael with her, but he'll take what he can get.

The world is blurred at the edges of his vision: the Commander fighting Cain on one side, Samael and the other dragons fighting on the other, and fire, fire, fire. Blood flows so swiftly out of him that his hands slip over the wound, slick with red, and when he coughs, he knows there is blood there, too.

A wail distracts him from following Chloe’s movements, and when he realizes where it's coming from, it dawns on him that Samael is not just outnumbered: he was just made weaker by Lucifer’s own pain. The only thing worse than imagining another rider on his back is the thought of watching the dragon die because of him. Lucifer tries to slide toward him, to do what, he doesn’t know, but he winces and flops back down with a groan, shaking from the effort.

_And he is small again, as small as any human child, but with a pair of fluffy wings on his back; leaping then stumbling, leaping then stumbling, trying and failing to take flight._

_His Samael, no bigger than a household dog, imitates him with much better results, making Lucifer pout as he lands on his butt and crosses his arms over his chest, defeated._

_“It’s not fair!” he complains. “I want to fly already!”_

_Samael lands, too, then turns around and crawls toward him, all the way into his lap. But he is no dog, so he doesn’t lick him: still, he bumps his nose against Lucifer’s, and it does feel like something a puppy would do. And for the first time, the very first time after months of training, Lucifer hears his thoughts distinctly instead of sensing them vaguely, instead of having a generic idea of what his dragonling wants to tell him._

_“You will,” they say, and it’s enough._

And he did. _They_ did. They flew until they were both out of breath, landing in the sand in a fit of giggles and screeches; flew to the ends of the world to see if it’s flat and found out it’s not; flew as high as they could to try and see if they would reach the forbidden, ancestral gates of Heaven, but went back down when all they found were clouds; flew both as rider and mount and as equals, competing against each other as if they didn’t know Samael would always, always win.

But now Lucifer is wingless, and he’s dying, and there is no point in Samael risking his life for him anymore. _Fly_, he orders, he _begs_, his consciousness weak and unfocused. _Please, please, fly away from here_.

Samael falters, only making himself more vulnerable to the others' hits and fire, then resumes fighting as if he didn’t hear anything at all – _The infuriating beast_, Lucifer growls internally, though without any real anger, _disobeying me after all this time together_.

Another wail, this time very human, makes his head whip in the other direction: Cain falling on his side with Dromos' sword in the middle of his chest, through his heart. His eyes are clearly lifeless, but from what they now know about his identity, Lucifer assumes it won’t last, and his clever Commander has figured it out too.

After removing the sword from his body and retrieving Lucifer’s from the man’s loose grip, she uses the discarded chain to bind him, wrists tight behind his back and tied to his legs, which she bends at an odd angle to leave him there like a pig ready to be roasted over a fire.

She is such a force of nature, and it reminds him so clearly of all the criminals he saw her capture – what a marvellous thing to remember before he goes.

“Lucifer!” Chloe calls as she finally reaches him. They have been forced apart for so long, both by their own actions and by others', that just the touch of her hand on his forehead makes him sigh. Chloe tears a piece of her own blouse to bundle it up and apply pressure on his wound, then smooths his hair away from his face and cradles him against her chest, trembling.

“You keep pressing on it, yeah? And I- I will leave, I will run as far away as I can, I-”

“The dragons block the entrance, and the other doors are locked from outside,” Lucifer croaks, smiling weakly at her. “My darling, will you forgive me?”

“What are you- No, no, I- I will find something to use as a ram, I can do that!” she nods shakily, but as she looks around, she obviously finds nothing of the sort and her face falls. Then she looks in Samael’s direction, maybe hoping to get Lucifer to him so he can be flown away to heal, but Lucifer is well aware that Samael has been trying and failing to reach him, surrounded. At a loss, Chloe starts to panic.

“Lucifer… Lucifer, please-”

“I love you,” he blurts out, like a teen who just can’t hold it in anymore; she knows it at this point, but not from his lips, and his time is running out. “I love you, and I don’t regret it. You made me feel like I could be the angel I once was. And I wish- I wish I could have been, for you.”

A tear slips from one of Chloe’s eyes and lands on his bruised cheek, the salt burning, but almost in a good way. She presses their foreheads together, a gesture she saw him share with Samael, and the clear intent to imitate it fills him with joy despite it all.

“You were. You _are_,” Chloe whispers heatedly, and he so wishes he could believe her after all the death and destruction he has caused; after father, and mother, and _Azrael_. “Listen, I… I'm so sorry about how I acted when I first saw his face. It was stupid, and… _Please_. Please, don’t go, I… I love you, too. _I love you_. Please, don’t leave me.”

Lucifer’s heart skips a beat in his chest, and fuck, it hurts like hell, but it’s so, so worth it. He wishes he could lift a hand to stroke her cheek, but he doesn’t want to make it dirty with his own blood, so he pushes himself up with all the energy he has left and kisses her. Chloe is the one to cup his face with her clean hand, keeping him close as their lips meet sweetly, and even if there’s blood in his mouth it's good enough for him.

But Heaven never lasts: Hell always calls and asks its due. He sees it even as he’s still kissing her, once he opens his eyes to pull back: fire coming their way from between a wild dragon’s open jaws, a moving, unstoppable wall of red and yellow flames.

Out of instinct, Lucifer hugs Chloe tightly to get her to duck down and cover her with his body, his eyes shut as he holds her. Then, something funny happens, something _inside_ of him. A ripple under his skin – no, _two_ twin tingles of sensation along his back, his shoulder blades.

Something snaps, tears him open from the inside, but it doesn’t hurt. Oh, it does the opposite of hurting.

Before the wall of fire can engulf them, one of feathers bursts and wraps around them. He is himself again, he did it: he turned himself into the angel he once was because Chloe told him he is, because she _needs_ him to be. Because… because now he knows that _she_ loves him, too.

And while _his_ love makes him feel weak and human, _hers_ makes him feel divine.

_They’re back,_ he thinks. _I’m back. I’m whole. I'm me._

In this glorious, perfect moment, he forgets about his bleeding wound and everything else around them; and wrapped in his embrace, Chloe gasps softly, surrounded by sacred, holy, heavenly light.

But divinity is flawed when entrusted to the hands of a human, and _his_ human, the one he gave himself to, is right here with him.

So when dragonfire comes, for the first time, the very first time in his existence, Lucifer burns.

Just his bloody luck, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*packs things up to run away, remembers she’s in lockdown, settles for hiding in a corner of the house*_ But hey, on the bright side, it’s time for H/C now! Chloe’s gonna take good care of him, I promise ❤
> 
> Before you go, today I am sharing this beautifully haunting, heartbreakingly detailed [fanart](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/616394862703542272/father-father-father-father-into-your) UstimoJan made for Chapter 13. Just gorgeous. Thank you again!


	16. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe deals with the aftermath of what happened in the throne room.

Chloe stares at her hands, her fingers tapping incessantly on the wooden table in front of her. Across from her, Ella and Trixie sit in a similar position, worried and silent. Kelsey's house – assuming that was the real name of the bitch who helped Cain, hosted them under false pretenses and then conveniently fled the city – is now theirs, so to speak, at least for now.

Because Chloe needs to stay away, for Lucifer to have a chance to survive. Because in her flawed, human hands, he is made a flawed, human being.

It’s only starting to sink in now, she feels: it’s not just that Lucifer can get hurt in her presence. The worst thing, she is slowly realizing, is that she can’t be there to help him get better afterwards. In truth, she did once, but the wound caused by Michael’s blade in battle was already half-closed when she patched it up.

This time, when Chloe was dragged out of the throne room, Lucifer was passed out and basically half dead.

And burnt. His skin wasn’t, at least, because Samael jumped in so quickly that the flames didn’t have the time to get to his body. But… oh, his wings. Those beautiful, gorgeous white wings he just got back, spread and wrapped around them to protect _her_. Lucifer’s feelings for her make him so vulnerable that he even burnt under dragonfire, defying his special, unique, one-of-a-kind immunity that is legendary among his own kind.

All those burnt, blackened, shredded feathers slowly showing the flesh underneath… she shivers, burying her face in her hands with her elbows on the table.

“Chlo,” Ella whispers, reaching out to gently stroke her arm. “Chlo, he’ll be okay, you'll see.”

Chloe is so glad Ella is safe: in the end, like she predicted, the maid got locked up with the rest of the human staff, but nothing more than that. She needs a friend, a _true_ friend she can count on, one who won’t give her advice to trick her and gain something out of it. Still, Chloe feels her words are hollow, just an empty reassurance you give when you have nothing else to offer.

“You don’t know that,” she says, not even lifting her face from her palms. “You didn’t see how pale he was, even _before_. He had lost so much blood, and then… Ella, the way he screamed…”

“Stop thinking about it,” Ella encourages her, squeezing her arm until Chloe looks up at her. “You’ll have to be in good spirits when you see him. Everything will be fine, I know it! That… that bastard can’t hurt him anymore. I feel so stupid, I can’t believe I had a thing for his arms.”

Which isn’t really the… ah, nevermind.

“Damn right he can’t, because you took care of him!” Trixie pipes up, with a big, clearly forced smile just for her mother’s sake. “You were so _good_, I watched it all from behind the throne! He didn’t stand a chance against you! You beat an _immortal_, mom, how cool is that?”

Not that cool, really. After all, Cain is still human. And apparently, while practicing the dark arts, he forgot to brush up on his fighting skills. Even so, Chloe does have a few bruises and cuts (aside from her chafed wrists), but nothing serious. Nothing compared to Lucifer’s condition, that’s for sure.

“Well, I also heard _someone_ here slayed a demon,” Ella smiles at Trixie, bumping her shoulder against the girl’s. “Seems like those fighting lessons have payed off.”

Technically speaking, Dromos was killed later once the demons still loyal to Lucifer managed to free themselves, but it’s true that Trixie’s slash across his belly weakened him significantly. A disturbing thought, the image of her daughter involved in such violence, but the truth is, Chloe is proud.

Just like her, Trixie will grow to be a fierce, independent woman, and it was wrong of Chloe, although understandably protective, to keep her away from her calling back when she didn’t want Trixie to learn how to fight.

“He got what was coming to him,” Trixie says in a serious tone – she is growing so fast, too much perhaps, but it can’t be helped in the world they live in.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Chloe speaks again. “I just… I can’t stand the waiting,” she sighs, raking a hand through her hair. Morning has turned to afternoon and now evening, and she’s going insane. “I wish someone would come tell us what’s going on.”

“I'm sure someone will,” Ella smiles, always optimistic. “We just need to be patient, and-”

The front door opens, cutting her sentence short. The three of them stand up immediately at the sight of Mazikeen walking in and closing it behind her. The Lilim is limping slightly from the fighting she endured to escape the dungeons she was imprisoned in, not to mention the effort that must have followed to put those wild dragons back in line.

“He's alive,” Maze announces, pausing to let them all sigh with relief. Her face is as stern as always, but clearly tired underneath, and haunted. “The wound has closed completely, though he’s still very weak from bloodloss.”

Chloe swallows, clenching her fists at her sides. “And… and the wings?” she asks, her voice shaking.

Mazikeen’s jaw hardens. “They haven’t healed. Well, regrown, or whatever. Honestly, I… I'm not even sure they will. This is dragonfire we're talking about: at least in his case, he shouldn’t have _burned_ in the first place.”

But he did, because _she_ was there. Chloe’s mind drifts back to the sight of the king’s red face, of burns that never healed, not even after centuries. Despite her being physically distant now, she understands that there is a chance Lucifer’s won’t either. But he’s still special, isn’t he? Shouldn’t it count for something?

And also… “Couldn’t he just… you know, conjure new ones into existence, like he did in the throne room?”

After all, that was a miracle too, right? According to Maze’s retelling of his Rebellion, one of his brothers used his power to prevent it from ever happening. And yet, it did. _The Myth of Self-Actualization_.

Mazikeen slowly makes her way to the table and sits, so they all do the same. The demon slumps back on her chair and sighs deeply.

“Hell if I know. I mean, he never managed before today, not consciously. And what about what’s left of these ones? What if they need to be cut again for it to work?” Chloe shudders at the words – no way they’re doing that. “I just don’t know, Chloe. He once told me he thinks he's the first angel to lose his wings in the history of his species.”

Chloe can’t really say she’s surprised or sad about it: what was done to Lucifer is barbaric and should have no place among people who supposedly consider each other family. She just wishes there was some form of guidance, a tome with rules and suggestions about how all of this works. And then it hits her.

What if there is?

“Trix, did Cain have _many_ books under his bed, or just the one?”

Trixie’s face lights up, maybe because she followed her mother’s reasoning, or maybe because she’s happy her snooping around is turning out to be helpful. “Many. I just happened to read that title because it was the one on top of the pile.”

“Good. Then you should have someone go over them all, Mazikeen. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some spell or explanation, something to speed up the process or start it in the first place.”

“Can I do it?” Ella offers, raising her hand excitedly. “I feel so useless, and I'm pretty sure boring research is the only way I can actually help.”

“And I'll join you! That way, we’ll finish sooner,” Trixie adds, before also raising her hand until Ella gets the hint and slaps her palm against hers. Chloe smiles at them, amused.

“Fine by me,” Maze agrees, looking way less impressed, more like relieved. “The last thing a demon wants to do is read, and I have too many things to take care of as it is.”

“Are the others giving you trouble?” Chloe inquires.

“The ones who were imprisoned with me? Nah, they seem more than happy to follow my lead. Plus I had Lucifer sign another copy of that decree. He’s free to resume his role once he heals, but for now, someone else should be in charge. I'm just tired of all the torturing, you know?” Maze pauses to wave a hand in the air casually, as if talking about knitting, or something. “And if I say it, believe me, it means there’s been way too much of it. But we have to make sure all the demons we leave running around are _actually_ on our side.”

“Right,” Chloe nods, her eyes wide. Even as the City Watch Commander she is now, she can’t openly question Maze’s methods and authority, plus she’s not in a particularly charitable mood at the moment. They have to ensure Lucifer is surrounded by subjects who won’t betray him again.

A shadow settles over Maze’s expression, then. Chloe immediately understands that there is something else, something beyond stress and exhaustion.

“What is it?” she asks plainly, bracing herself. Ella and Trixie tense up, too, and look at Maze expectantly.

“The king is dead,” their temporary regent informs them, without any particular inflection. “A demon sent by Cain slit his throat while you were in the throne room.”

Of course. Lucifer carries two blades at his back, and that demon called Squee took one of them away right after Lucifer’s arrival, leaving the other in Cain’s hands. He must be the one who murdered Lucifer’s father, although judging by his scared and uncertain demeanor, it’s more likely that he gave the sword to someone else.

Chloe is sure that, at least when dealing with her kind, Maze can be trusted to investigate and get to the truth without her help, so she doesn’t ask about it.

Something else needs to be asked, though. “But why didn’t he survive? I know those blades can _hurt_ angels, but the king was not made vulnerable like Lucifer. Without a, uhm, shaman stopping the healing, he should have recovered, right? And why did Cain want him dead?”

It’s not like the bedridden angel posed any threat even while alive: he was basically a permanent piece of furniture up in that forgotten tower. No matter how the rebellious demons intended to govern themselves, he could hardly voice any objection.

“You want my honest opinion? That piece of shit did it out of spite, just for the fun of it. Or… well, Lucifer did mention to me once that the old wrinkled bird had a very powerful mind. Maybe Cain feared he might have gotten in the way of his plans, that he might have tried to claim Samael mentally after Lucifer’s death. As for your first question… again, just guessing here. I think the burns made him too weak, unable to regenerate.”

A very powerful mind. Maybe that's how King Hashem could communicate with her father when he was in search of a remedy for her mother's infertility, even while being forced in bed. Chloe supposes it makes sense, both this and Maze’s explanation. Or better, she doesn’t have the energy to question it, nor the interest.

She doesn’t really know how to feel about the news, either, but the real issue is: how will Lucifer take it?

Ella opens her mouth and then closes it, clearly gathering up the courage to object. It would be her first dive into the world of the supernatural, after Chloe told her everything they discovered from Cain while they waited for news.

“I hate to be the one to say this, but… what if the king _was_ made vulnerable by love like Lucifer? But love for his son, of course.”

“That’s rich, Ellen,” Mazikeen deadpans (and they all know she knows the name is wrong). “I can tell you never had the pleasure of meeting His Royal Pain In The Ass. But I have. I was _there_ when he did what he did, and-”

“I'm not saying he loved Lucifer back _then_, and I'm not even saying his recent affection can make up for what happened at the time,” Ella replies calmly but firmly, waving a placating hand. “I'm just saying it might be the reason.”

Chloe is confused. “But Ella, _Lucifer_ is not human. Why would _he_ have weakened his father?”

The maid purses her lips, thinking. “Well, I could argue he _is_ human, with you, so it could be a chain reaction of sorts. _Or_ we are focusing on Marcus' – _Cain's_ words too much, and not seeing the bigger picture. If angels can indeed change their own nature because of external influences, maybe there is more than one way for them to do so. Maybe… ah, leave it, it’s stupid.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow at her. “I know you want to say it. So say it.”

“Well, alright. Why do you think Lucifer gave himself his wings back, Chloe? I mean, specifically?”

“I…” Uhm. Good question. “I'm lost, enlighten me.”

Ella smiles proudly at her choice of words: she loves feeling smart. “My assumption is, he felt worthy of them. _You_ made him feel worthy of them. Of his own divinity. So… what if the king _stopped_ feeling worthy of it? Out of… guilt?”

“Oh man, you’re killing me here.” Maze rolls her eyes. “_Guilt_. Yeah, sure. I like this fantasy land you live in.”

Ella shoots her a glare, but from her it’s still adorable, and not at all effective. She crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “Hey, it’s just a theory. You’re right, I didn’t know him. Could have been the burns, too. But! Fingers crossed we'll find answers to this as well, through our research.”

A part of Chloe actually doesn’t want to find out. Who knows how Lucifer would feel if Ella was right. Which reminds her…

“Does he- does he know?”

“No,” Maze replies, “and frankly I don’t know how to tell him. If it was for me, we’d be celebrating already and making this a city holiday, but you know how he is. His feelings for that asshole were – well, are – complicated. And I don’t do well with _feelings_ in general.”

Chloe considers it for a moment. It’s a big responsibility, but she feels like it’s hers to bear.

“I'll deal with it. I'll find a way to tell him,” she declares, before doubt creeps in. “But when can I see him?”

“That’s actually the main reason I came here. He asked to see you,” Maze informs her, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “The idiot. If you ask me, he shouldn’t until his health isn’t completely restored. You two are actually a perfect deterrent against romance, as if I needed one.”

“I find them so terribly adorable instead,” Ella gushes, almost swaying on her chair. “It’s like a real-life novel, and I'm in it, too!”

“Ugh.” Maze makes a disgusted face. “Anyway, shall we? Ellen can ride with me on my horse, and the little Hell spawn on yours, Decker. Oh, sorry, _Commander_ Decker.”

Together, they all make their way back to the palace. Trixie and Ella head downstairs to Cain’s room to dig through his pile of books, while Chloe and Maze go up to the top of the Prince's Tower. Before pushing his bedroom door open, Mazikeen addresses Chloe in a hushed tone.

“I think I should warn you before we go in. It’s… well, it looks bad. Just- don’t let it show on your face, okay? He’s not… fully aware of it, I feel.”

Worry courses through Chloe’s body and down her spine, but she promptly schools herself. She can do this. It will be nothing compared to what _he_ went through.

And yet, when they enter, she can’t help but stop at the door. Lucifer is lying on his stomach on the bed, his face turned toward her, but seemingly asleep. Someone must have washed away the blood from his wound, because the sheets under him and his bare upper body look clean. There are no scars on his cheek or his back, no sign of the sword that went through him. His skin is still too pale and his face sweaty, but overall, he looks way better than before.

If it wasn’t for the wings.

The whole thing has been a blur, in her mind, so she feels as if she’s seeing them in this state for the first time even though she was there when the fire came. But everything happened so fast, right after: Mazikeen and her followers burst through the locked doors, some to tame or chase away the wild dragons fighting Samael, others to rush to their prince’s aid, which meant getting Chloe out immediately.

She remembers crying and kicking and struggling against Maze’s grip, even though she consciously knew it was the right thing, the _only_ thing, to do. And she remembers Lucifer screaming, then fainting, feathers shriveling and crumbling as they got turned to ash; and the terrible, sickening smell of burnt bone and tissue.

But now she can really focus on them, take them in, assess the damage. The _carnage_.

What is now sprouting from Lucifer’s back is more similar to a pair of blackened branches, thin and fragile after barely surviving a forest fire. The only leaves – the only feathers – left are the ones closest to his body, around the two curved lines where the wings merge with it, where the scars used to be.

Since he was facing the fire when the dragon breathed it out, it is the longer part of the wings that has been mostly affected, burnt to the bone when he wrapped them both around himself and Chloe with his back turned the other way.

The white feathers in the center slowly dissipate as you look left or right, following the top arches. Well, what is left of them. Even the bone itself burnt, though not completely, but it’s clear that it’s cut short at the end, that it should be longer and whiter. It gives Chloe the impression of a banner, now shredded after being waved in a battle that was lost, undulating in the wind from the staff it’s still barely attached to, weakly clutched in the hand of a dead bannerman on the battlefield.

A wave of nausea hits her, but she clings to Maze’s words, determined. She walks forward, the demon trailing behind her but keeping at a distance, and goes to sit against the headboard next to Lucifer. The two horrifying skeleton wings are hard to look away from, but she focuses on his face, cards her fingers through his hair.

He’s alive. It’s all that matters. As long as he's alive, there is hope.

Lucifer hums in a sleep Chloe assumes is induced. When he slowly opens his eyes, they are more unfocused than they would normally be when waking up. He struggles to lift his head, so she scoots down to make sure he knows it’s her.

“Hi there, sleepyhead,” she says around a watery smile, still obsessively stroking his hair. A way to ground herself, probably.

The prince’s smile is drowsy and childlike. His eyelids slowly open and close multiple times, until it almost seems like he’s drifting off again.

“’mander,” he mumbles, dazed. He tries to move again, but winces, the lines of his face and muscles seizing up.

“Don’t move,” Chloe tells him gently. “It’s okay. I'm here.”

She lifts her gaze to meet Mazikeen’s. The Lilim is standing by the end of the bed, leaning against one of the posts. Her eyes linger on the wings for a moment, until she hastily, almost furiously looks away, intently focused on the wall near the door.

Chloe is actually surprised Maze hasn’t blamed her, considering her reservations about her role in Lucifer’s life. It says a lot about the demon’s change of heart (do they have that one, at least?) after betraying her master’s trust.

“Samael?” Lucifer whispers, bringing Chloe back to the present. It says a lot that he cannot tell on his own where his scaled companion is.

Chloe looks out toward the balcony, where the dragon she glimpsed while walking in is resting. The creature is such a permanent part of this place that it didn’t even register, not until Lucifer asked.

The sun is setting, painting Samael’s dark scales in ruby red. Chloe notices patches of crusted blood here and there, between one layer of scales and the next, and a gash across his snout. The wing she can see, pressed tight to his sprawled body, is torn. There is no way these are the first battle injuries for him, though, so she assumes he can also heal, just slower, maybe.

She is also pretty sure the dragon won’t leave Lucifer’s side while he’s in this state: she’ll have to make sure to tell Maze to keep him fed, though she imagines the demon has thought about it already.

Would you look at that. Chloe Decker, worried for the wellbeing of a dragon. A dragon who fought to keep her and Lucifer and Trixie safe, and who deserves nothing less; a creature she is finally starting to see as a proper extension of Lucifer’s essence after his words in the throne room.

_He can’t be yours. He’s not mine, either: he is me._

Her heart aches as she puts herself in his shoes, facing the threat of a part of her own _soul_ being taken away from her.

“He’s here,” she reassures Lucifer then, smiling down at him. “He’s fine.”

A tension she didn’t know was there leaves the angel’s body. Then he inquires, “And- and Cain?”

Chloe looks up at Maze for guidance, unsure. The man seems unable to die, and regardless of that, Lucifer once told her the death penalty is not contemplated in his kingdom. So what will happen to him?

“He’s locked up in the dungeons, unharmed, for now,” the demon regent informs them. “We have obtained a pair of magic-dampening cuffs from our backchannels, so you don’t have to worry about him trying one of his tricks. The Princeguard can set up his fire punishment, if you so desire.”

“We'll see,” Lucifer replies, and it’s enough for Chloe to understand that he doesn’t want to unsettle her by giving a clear answer, by ordering something he knows she struggles to accept. But there is time for that: the sorcerer is not going anywhere. Now, all Chloe wants to do is take care of Lucifer as much as she’s allowed.

“Why did you ask to see me?”

She waits patiently as the angel drifts off again, keeping her touch gentle but always present. She’s not completely certain he will remember any of these conversations once he recovers.

He mumbles something as he opens his eyes again, but she doesn’t catch it. She scoots down even more to fully lie down next to him, her body a line that follows his own. The chipped bone of his closest wing hovers above her now, ominous and scrawny and dead, the leg of a spider unnaturally protruding from his body, so she turns toward Lucifer’s face to ignore it.

“Come again?” she says with an encouraging smile, cupping his cheek to lift it from the pillow. The vicinity of her face seems to ground him, to make him more focused.

“You didn’t answer,” he says, but Chloe still doesn’t understand.

“I didn’t answer what?”

“My… my question. Will you forgive me?”

He asked her in the throne room, but she was too concentrated on begging him not to die to answer. She knows what he’s referring to: him keeping secrets from her, then pushing her away, leaving, questioning their feelings for each other because of everything he discovered from his father and then Cain.

But Chloe has made mistakes, too. She judged him too easily, gave up on him too easily, let her fears get in the way, trusted the last person she should have trusted. It’s not a competition, but still, they’re even.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she tells him, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone.

“But… if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t left,” Lucifer protests, “he wouldn’t have taken Beatrice.”

It might actually be true: it was Lucifer’s departure that messed with Cain’s plans, otherwise he would have probably just used Chloe without the need to force her to pray to Lucifer by threatening her daughter. But it’s useless to dwell on it, and theirs is a shared blame.

“Lucifer, it’s my fault, too. I trusted him. I accepted his offer to host us at his friend’s house and left Trixie there. I let my guard down, we all have.” She looks up at Maze, who nods sadly before staring down at the floor. “What’s done is done. All you need to worry about now is getting better.”

“Mh-mh,” he agrees, then falls silent for a longer amount of time, his eyes closed. Chloe has the impression he might not wake up for a while, so she makes to sit up. But then he speaks almost to himself, halfway between sleep and wake.

“I can’t wait to show them to father,” he sighs sort of dreamily. Chloe freezes. “I want… I want him to know he didn’t… break me.”

Her panicking eyes find Maze’s. The demon opens her mouth to say something, but Chloe beats her to it, making the decision for both of them in a heartbeat before she can change her mind.

“You will soon,” she reassures Lucifer, her jaw clenching at her own blatant, awful lie. Lucifer’s father is not alive anymore for him to show anything, and will Lucifer even have anything to show?

But this doesn’t seem like a good time to shock him like that, giving not one but _two_ terrible pieces of news. If he grows agitated, he will start to move, and Chloe doesn’t want him to suffer more than necessary.

“Will you come with me?” asks her Dragon Prince, and Chloe is lucky his eyes are closed so he can’t see the misery on her face.

“Of- of course,” she croaks. She can only hope Lucifer will forgive her, that he will understand she was trying to protect him for the time being. Or maybe, he won’t remember this and will ask again, giving her a chance to come clean.

Finally, the kind of sleep Lucifer falls into seems deeper. Chloe waits until she’s sure, then leans down and kisses him briefly on the cheek. She leaves the bed to join Mazikeen, who seems unnaturally pensive. Troubled, almost.

“Tell me,” Chloe sighs, bracing herself for more bad news to digest.

“I think you should stay,” Maze says, and it’s obvious that it pains her to admit it out loud. “The demons I entrusted with his care told me he needed to drink milk of the poppy almost continuously, that he kept waking up in pain. But now… it’s been a while since he last drank, and the effect seems stronger. I think… I think it’s you. You make his healing slower, but also his ability to burn through this sort of stuff.”

“Well, that’s… kind of frustrating,” Chloe comments as she processes the information. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Maze nods. “Yeah. You’ll take care of him better than them, and right now, I feel like we should focus on lessening the pain. If the wings are bound to regrow… sooner or later, they will.”

“Alright.” Chloe has no intention to question her reasoning. It will allow her to be there for him, which is all she wanted: not to feel like a threat, or an impediment to his wellbeing. It’s relieving to know she can be a cure, too.

“I'll go check on those two,” Mazikeen announces after a moment of silence. “And I'll make sure someone comes here with your dinner and Samael's. Don’t worry if you can’t get Lucifer to eat: I guess it would help, but technically speaking, he doesn’t need food. He just likes the flavors.”

“Oh.” Will she ever stop learning new, weird notions of angelic biology? Probably not.

As Maze closes the door behind her, Chloe finds herself alone with Lucifer – Lucifer and his wings – and suddenly, she feels scared. What if they never heal? And will they ever go back in the same way they came out, or will they always stay visible as the macabre, tragic spectacle they are now?

She needs a moment to herself, but she can’t go far. The only place for her to gather her thoughts away from the sight but also stay close and be able to help is the balcony, where… where Samael is. Chloe takes a deep breath, turns around and walks out.

The dragon wakes from his slumber at the sound of her footsteps, one big red eye opening and reflecting her own image. The swirling red in it is similar to the one she glimpsed in Lucifer’s eyes when he got angry at Dromos in the throne room. It’s a beautiful color, and instead of reminding her of the flames of Hell, it makes her feel warm: a campfire to find refuge in the cold of the night.

Carefully, still a bit hesitant about being so close, Chloe walks around him to lean over the balustrade. The city below looks peaceful as its inhabitants gather in their homes to prepare their meals, the faint glow of candles lighting up the small stone houses from inside. They look so little from up here, that they might as well be fake.

Do her fellow humans even know what their prince went through? What it cost him to love one of them so wholeheartedly, to love _all of them_ so completely? Will they ever understand Lucifer’s undying trust in them despite the losses he endured because of it?

Probably not, but she will. She _does_. And she will make it be enough.

Once her thoughts settle, her mind now silent, Chloe starts to feel watched. She decides to turn with her back against the balustrade, staring back at the huge black dragon in front of her as the day slowly comes to an end around them. And what a long, long day it has been.

Samael studies her in turn, and she squirms under the scrutiny. As ridiculous as it may seem, she feels the need to fill the silence as if in the company of another human she could have a conversation with.

“I, uh… I hope you’ll get better soon,” she tries, biting her lip. “Ugh, forget it, this is stupid.”

She starts to walk away, but the sight of the gash cutting across the dragon’s snout gives her pause. Samael lies unnaturally still, breathing way more softly than she ever noticed him do. She can’t help but sense that it’s on purpose, to make her more at ease.

“I'm sorry about that,” she points vaguely in the direction of the cut. Her fingers itch to touch, probably for the first time, at least the first time without being asked or encouraged. She takes a step closer, reaching out slowly, and finds courage in the way Samael himself moves toward her palm.

Back when she touched him at Lucifer’s request, it was just for a brief moment, and her heart wasn’t really in it. She didn’t understand the depth of their bond at the time, but now, she thinks she does. As she strokes dark, warm scales and feels Samael’s breath brush against her skin, she finds that talking to him is not that stupid after all.

“Thank you,” she tells him, and there are tears in her eyes, the ones she had to keep from falling for Lucifer’s sake. “Thank you for saving him even though you were supposed to stay away. For saving _us_.”

True, his landing lured other dragons to the throne room and he couldn’t stop the one that hurt Lucifer in time, but if it wasn’t for his arrival, Cain’s blade would have killed him. Samael knew he was needed, knew he had to go against his own rider's wishes, knew his prince’s life was in danger. Samael _knows_.

_He can’t be yours. He’s not mine, either: he is me._

When the idea comes to her, Chloe is certain that it’s the right one. But first, she needs to make sure of something, always at a loss about the convoluted rules of the bond between dragon and angel.

“If I… if I told you something right now, would Lucifer instantly know it, too?”

Samael moves his head from side to side, much like a human would do to give a negative answer. It should probably feel weirder than it does, but on the contrary, the depth of his understanding is a relief; and regardless of whether Samael follows Lucifer’s principle of truthfulness or not, Chloe believes him. His reply makes her realize that this, being a simple conversation, must be different than praying. In a way, she is speaking to Lucifer’s subconscious with Lucifer none the wiser, which is exactly what she needs.

“Lucifer’s father is dead,” she whispers. “A demon killed him in his bed.”

Samael’s nostrils flare, his eyes growing wider. Chloe lifts her hand for him to turn toward where Lucifer is sleeping, for him to consider the implications. She never thought these creatures could show sadness, but oh, they can. Then Samael stares back at her, understanding that she means to keep speaking.

“You have been there for him his whole life. You know him better than anyone, and I'll be lucky if I'll manage to come second. You'll find the right moment to tell him, you'll know when he’s ready. It’s not my place, it’s yours.”

Samael nods under her palm, slowly closing and opening his eyes with finality. Then he pulls back, shows her his side and lifts his torn wing high in the air, bending it until he can cover her back with it, shielding her with a curtain of black, veiny leather.

It would have been scary, not too long ago, but Chloe knows she is safe now. She turns around and strokes the wing brushing against her, smiling.

Somehow, she’s sure she’s never been closer to Lucifer than she is in this very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dragon cuddles to all 🐉❤


	17. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer take care of each other, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of comforting smut at the very end of this for you dragonlings! They/you deserve it 😉

She tends to Lucifer day and night. Mazikeen keeps the palace running and appoints someone else to fill in for her at the helm of the City Watch, and Ella and Trixie, relieved of their serving duties, keep perusing the extensive book collection of a certain immortal warlock currently languishing in the dungeons of the Dragonfort.

Chloe thought it would be a quick affair, but no such luck. Of course, given how long Cain has lived and how deep his understanding of angels seems to be, there is a chance he might know how to help Lucifer heal; but she has the feeling a person used to dying and coming back to life wouldn’t be swayed by the use of physical force, so she’d rather search for answers on paper.

Besides, they can’t trust him enough to ask for advice without the fear of him lying or tricking them, leading them to a solution that might actually hurt Lucifer more. And to be honest, Chloe just doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his actions still managed to cause the prince suffering, despite his defeat.

The first few days are the worst. At the very beginning, Lucifer develops quite the fever, hot to the touch but often shaking with cold tremors. The demons that used to take care of the king tell her it’s normal, the aggressive reaction of a body used to healing and now struggling to. At least, thanks to her presence slowing his metabolism, he stays drugged through it, and she can cover the ugliest burns with the ointments provided to her without him even noticing.

She certainly had not envisioned her first time touching his wings to be like this. Well, to be fair, she had not really contemplated the possibility of ever seeing them before the throne room, but she still feels cheated, unjustly deprived of a completely different moment to be shared with him. Most of all, she feels angry on his behalf, but all she can do – the _least_ she can do – is tend to whatever strips of flesh are left, press a cool, damp cloth on his forehead and use another one to keep his body clean as best as she can.

When the fever breaks, they reduce the quantities of poppy milk administered to him so he can be conscious for longer periods of time. “Conscious” is still a strong word, but his eyes are open, his attention focused on Chloe for as long as he’s able to stay awake. So she reads to him, even though there’s a good chance he’s already read everything in his library; but it soothes him – and her – and through stories of other people’s quests and adventures, they fly away.

Trixie comes to visit. She finds him asleep, but doesn’t mind. She just hands Chloe the drawing she made – there _is_ a child in there somewhere, thankfully – and asks her to give it to him when he gets better, then leaves the room. On the crumpled piece of paper, a poor rendition of Lucifer is smiling and sporting two perfect white wings, next to equally but endearingly inaccurate versions of Chloe, Samael and Trixie herself.

Chloe smiles down at it, wipes a tear off her cheek, and vows to show it to him if (_when?_) his feathers will regrow.

More days go by in a dance of trial and error. The longer Lucifer stays awake, the less he wants to drink, determined to be able to see her for as long as possible. Chloe doesn’t have it in her to force the liquid down his throat if he’s unwilling, but it’s hard to watch as his body twists and convulses, his face muffled into the pillow to groan or bite into it. She grips his hand tightly through these fits, and later coaxes him into giving up the tough act, allowing her to help him rest.

Then the day comes: the day he gains enough strength to turn around at the first pulse of pain and _see_ what is actually attached to his back. So far he has only been vaguely aware of something being wrong in his limbs, without fully registering the extent of the damage. But the actual sight, Chloe knows, is something no amount of mind-numbing substances will be able to erase.

“No, no, no, _no_,” he panics, raising himself up on his elbows. Chloe startles, convinced he was still asleep. She jumps to her feet from the chair she was sitting on, busy going through one of Cain’s books to help Ella and Trixie with the research, and manages to get to him just in time before he twists too suddenly and hurts himself.

She slithers underneath him, gathers his upper body in her arms, keeps his own tightly pressed at his sides to stop him from touching. Lucifer doesn’t struggle against her, not really, but his breath comes too quick, his heart beats too fast.

“_Chloe_,” he whispers brokenly, clutching at her blouse as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and whimpers – small and frantic and scared, so very scared, echoed by a haunting, chilling lament coming from the balcony. “Chloe, my _wings_.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. All she feels is guilt, and an almost overwhelming sense of inadequacy as she realizes that she can’t even begin to understand what they mean to him, more than an arm or a leg would mean to a human; they are so viscerally, profoundly _him_ that he had to literally feel like he deserved them to get them back. How can anything else compare?

But she can’t let herself drown, because this isn’t about her. She has a job to do, a _duty_ to perform, and _this_ is something Chloe understands: responsibility. She might not have the right words or an effective cure, but she can hold him close, and rock him like the child she suspects he still is and always will be, deep down, despite all the years he has lived. And so, she does.

And when it’s not enough, she tells him things; things she can’t be sure of but that she hopes with all her heart. “It’s going to be okay,” she vows, whispering it into his hair. “They will get better,” she promises, praying it won’t be yet another lie.

Finally, she tells him that he can be whoever he wants to be, with or without them, regardless of what they look like. That it doesn’t matter, though she knows it does.

That night he cries himself to sleep without needing any substance, just from pure mental exhaustion and shock, and eventually Chloe does, too. He burns again, in her nightmares, screaming at the top of his lungs, but this time there is no rescue and she can only watch, petrified, as he turns into the red and flayed monstrosity she once saw on top of a different tower.

No matter how hard, reality, once she wakes with a start, comes as a relief. And in the end, fate seems to decide to cut them some slack.

Lucifer’s energy comes back to him, to the point where he starts eating again (though for the simple fun of it, apparently). But the really good news, the _best_ news, is that his wings begin to heal.

She is the one to notice when she first opens her eyes, blinking up at what is now a familiar sight. _So_ familiar, in fact, that the slightest difference immediately catches her eye.

“Lucifer,” she whispers, shaking him by the shoulder until he stirs. “Lucifer, look.”

She points at the beginning of a timid, fluffy little feather sprouting from the thin layer of skin barely hanging to the exposed bone of his left wing. It’s a small bundle of down, but it catches the light of the early morning sun, like a pearl just uncovered from inside a precious shell retrieved from the deep. It wasn’t there yesterday, she is sure of it.

Lucifer emits a sound between a chuckle and a sob, then turns to her. “Look at that, Commander,” he smiles, surprise and joy finally lighting up his face, “we did it.” Then he laughs, which quickly turns to crying, but she is too; and so they hug each other tightly and do it together, letting go of the worry eating at both of their insides.

Because as it turns out, Lucifer is still one of a kind when it comes to dragonfire: it burned him due to Chloe’s vicinity, but now they finally know he’s able to heal from it – something no other angel can say.

The only problem is that, pretty soon, the process becomes painful, especially when the long arching bones of the wings start to magically regenerate and extend on either side. Once again, this forces Lucifer to be in a continuous state of poppy-induced daze, though way milder than before.

He doesn’t sleep as often as he used to, he’s just… permanently high, to put it bluntly. Which, if Chloe can be honest, is ridiculously amusing and a much needed breath of fresh air.

“Your hair is so shiny,” he comments one afternoon, completely out of the blue. Finally able to assume a position that isn’t lying face down, he’s sitting against the headboard of his bed, blinking owlishly at the other occupants of the room. Trixie’s drawing is resting upright on the nightstand, perched against the wall where he can always see it.

Chloe, Ella and Trixie are all sitting on pillows on the floor, surrounded by books, having decided to read together for the day.

“Thank you, I guess,” Chloe smiles at him, before turning another page of the deceivingly titled _Mystical Creatures: An Extensive Guide_. In truth, since Lucifer is already healing, maybe they should just stop, but there might be a way to make it less painful, so that’s how it is.

“Nooo, silly, I meant the tiny one's,” the angel pouts, gesturing vaguely in their direction.

“Me?” Trixie pipes up, hopeful.

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, so you mean _me_!” Ella bounces up and down, delighted, before waving her ponytail in the air emphatically. “Your Majesty, you flatter me! I'm just a humble cleaning maid!”

“You are, but, uh…” Lucifer trails off for slightly longer than normal, “now you have all these… books, yes? The Commander told me you wanted to be a – bloody hell, what’s the word – alchemist, so… go ahead and be your own teacher, me says. No, me commands! Yes, that’s right. I, Lucifer of House Morningstar, the First of His…”

“Oh no, not again,” Trixie says under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“Lucifer,” Chloe chuckles, “you have maaany titles, you don’t have to say them all every time you-”

“..City, the Adversary, Firebringer, Son of…”

“I mean, at this point let him finish,” Ella shrugs.

“..the Dawn and Tamer of Dragons, hereby declare that Miss Ella Lopez will learn to be an alchemist. Whatever that is.” Somehow, despite the terrible ending, Lucifer looks extremely pleased with himself. It’s a real feat not to laugh.

“You know, it’s actually not a bad idea,” Trixie agrees. “At least something good will come out of these stupid books and, well, that piece of-”

“Beatrice!” Chloe yelps. “Language. Don’t let Mazikeen's bad manners rub off on you too much, please.”

“Of work. That’s what I wanted to say. You are always so suspicious, mother.”

Ella laughs, and they find themselves joining in, even Lucifer. Chloe catches his gaze, as dazed as it is, and relief washes over her at the lightness and playfulness she finds there. They can still have _fun_, and after everything that happened, it comes almost as a shocking discovery.

In the back of her mind, though, there is an ever-present cloud: Lucifer still doesn’t know about his father’s death, and as the days pile up, so does her guilt at keeping the secret. But she decided to trust Samael, and so she waits, having informed the demons who come in contact with the prince to not say anything either. She assumes it won’t be long now, given Lucifer’s improved mood.

Another week passes. At this point the angel’s wings are half-grown, so to speak: the skin is fully formed, just missing a good one third of feathers (make it two, but without telling him), and even the ones you can see are short and fluffy like those of a small chick. At least the pain has reached a tolerable degree, or so he said, so no more poppy milk for him.

The research has therefore been abandoned, aside from Ella’s personal studies: Lucifer’s suggestion that day (well, order, if you ask him) later took the shape of a proper offer for her to become the _resident_ alchemist and librarian – a maester, as they would have said in old times – and Ella obviously accepted, taking advantage of Lucifer’s _very_ pliant inclination.

One would say the maid basically tricked him, but to be fair, he started it; and if you asked him now, just as a matter of pride, he would tell you he’s still convinced it was a good decision, and that _of course_ it was intentional – the product of careful consideration, certainly not the ramblings of an angel drugged out of his mind. Mazikeen, who as the regent technically had to approve it, did so through a fit of mocking laughter with tears in her eyes.

At Lucifer’s insistence, Chloe goes back to her duty, her _new_ duty, as Commander of the City Watch. After the demon rebellion they stopped, the tale of her fight with Cain spread among the remaining ones, and the transition is way easier than anticipated thanks to how respected she is.

Since they are depleted in numbers, she arranges for new members to be recruited and trained: _human_ members, which _does_ cause a bit of an argument, but she manages. Oh, and when she announces she’ll ban torture as an investigation method, she’s lucky her soldiers know how important she is to Lucifer, otherwise she would probably be dead already. Her first day is therefore exhausting, but honestly, it doesn’t come as a surprise.

That’s why it’s night, when Chloe ends up in Lucifer’s bedchamber once again. She looks around in search of him smiling up at her from the pages of a book or the wrinkled expanse of his map, but can’t seem to find him anywhere.

Then her eyes land on the balcony, and something in Samael’s posture gives her pause. She walks out, armor clinking with every step, usual low bun in place.

The dragon is lying on his belly, his now healed wing curved at his side. Chloe walks around it, knowing with absolute certainty what – who – she will find there. She inclines her head and smiles softly as, indeed, Lucifer comes into view, basically sitting in a leathery cocoon with his own wings pressing against it (he can’t hide them until they’re fully healed, he told her).

The angel looks up at her. Unable to properly cover his torso for the time being, he is wearing a long black open vest made of silk, the cut around the armpits large and long so the wings can slip through the holes, and matching slacks. His eyes are red and puffy, but his is a sadness that is… calm, not loud and desperate as the other times she has witnessed him grieving or reminiscing. Somehow, he seems at peace.

She made the right choice.

“You know,” she states. She doesn’t need to ask.

Instead of replying, Lucifer reaches for her hand. Chloe takes it and lets him guide her to sit down next to him, awkwardly tucked between Lucifer’s body, one of his wings and Samael’s, circling them both and covering their heads.

It feels like being inside a tent, but a breathing one, with the stars twinkling just beyond it. The texture of it, come to think of it, is almost see-through in places.

The sword at her hip is a bit in the way, so she shifts and turns more toward Lucifer, leaning on the leg bent under her. Lucifer draws patterns and figures on the palm of her hand, and she watches him without any hurry for him to speak. Life has been so loud: she does love the quiet, now.

Soon, hopefully, they’ll go back to the busy streets of the Dragon City; but up here, it’s a different world, always has been.

“How do you feel?” she still asks eventually, sensing Lucifer might need a bit of prodding.

“I don’t know. I'm not sad, exactly, but I'm not happy, either. I'm in this strange limbo where him being gone makes me feel free, and at the same time… it’s like he won, in a way. Bloody old bastard managed to pop off before I could get better and shove these in his face.” He gestures vaguely at his wings, then freezes as he probably realizes his poor choice of words – _his face_. “I- I mean… I wouldn’t have _actually_ shoved something in his face, of course, I just-”

“Lucifer.” Chloe stops him gently, catching the hand trailing along the lines of her palm to slot their fingers together. “It’s okay, I got what you meant.”

“Right. Good.” He swallows, insecure.

“And it’s perfectly normal for you to have mixed feelings, too. It was complicated. There is no point in pretending it wasn’t.” It’s her turn to hesitate. “But please, don’t blame yourself for this, too.”

Lucifer scoffs, bitter but playful. “Commander, you know me so well.”

“Does that mean you _do_ blame yourself?”

“Well, who put him in that tower? Who gave up the sword I assume he was killed with somehow? Who left him poorly guarded because of how harmless he was? While we're at it, who made him harmless in the first place?”

There’s a clear challenge in his words, but Chloe doesn’t shy away from it.

“Yes, you put him in that tower, but as far as you knew, it was safe for him to be there. You were _forced_ to give up that sword, and you didn’t know someone would use it. No matter how guarded he was, there was a rebellion unfolding, so I'm sure it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. And yes, you made him harmless… and if you hadn’t, people would have died. I know the story now, remember?”

Lucifer looks away. They haven’t really discussed it after everything that happened, too busy being relieved to be alive, and she knows a part of him still wishes she didn’t know any of it.

“That is true, yes. But I also wanted him to pay for what he did.” Lucifer turns back to her, serious. “You do realize that, right?”

She does. She is coming to terms with it, with the fact that Lucifer does have a darker side. But the thing is, darkness was forced onto him by people, events, circumstances. He wasn’t _born_ with it.

“Tell me something. If he hadn’t threatened to destroy the town your mother was killed in… do you think you would have attacked him?”

The angel considers it. Chloe has the feeling he never asked himself this before.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. “I was angry with him even before he announced it. I wanted revenge. I just… didn’t have anything specific in mind, so I can’t say what I would have done.”

“Those are perfectly understandable emotions, Lucifer. And from what I know of you… I don’t think you would have.”

He smiles as if fascinated by what she just said. “You clearly have more faith in me than I do, Commander.”

“Well, someone has to.”

He chuckles at that, then grows quiet. After a moment, he sighs deeply. “Mazikeen was right. I should have delivered him back to my family somehow. Well, minus the ‘piece by piece’ part. Demons.” He shakes his head as if to say _Children, what can you do?_

Chloe decides to ignore that and unpack the rest. “I think the journey would have been very painful for him, but if you really wanted to, I guess you could have. If it makes you feel any better… at least he’s done suffering now.”

The dragonlord stares at their joined hands, his jaw clenched. “_Does_ it make me feel better? What does it say about me, the fact that I don’t know? What does that make me?”

“Human.” Chloe says it instinctively, but then her eyes grow wide. “Sorry, I suppose that’s a major offense for your people.”

Lucifer chuckles, delightfully amused. Chloe loves the sound, loves that she can cheer him up. It’s also a relief to see that he doesn’t resent her for lying and not telling him about the king's death right away. Samael might have had something to do with that, who knows.

“It would be for them, but not for me,” Lucifer says, and it makes sense: he embraces his own weakness unlike the rest of his kind – he is basically in _love_ with his own weakness. The fact that he still wants to be in her presence is the most obvious proof of that: he never even brought up the possibility of actually be separated from her, though Chloe would have understood.

How reckless of her Dragon Prince, and how brave.

Lucifer’s gaze saddens again: thinking about his siblings, clearly. Chloe cups his face and leads it to rest on her shoulder, reveling in the way he snuggles closer. The breathing, living pod they are in moves, too, pushing them closer to Samael’s belly. In a way, it’s like a fire they could warm their hands in front of.

“We should throw him a funeral,” Lucifer says suddenly but quietly, his hair tickling the skin of her neck and under her ear. Chloe clutches his hand tighter. “He was still the king after all, although none of the humans in the city ever even knew him.”

Ella’s rapidly growing knowledge, thanks to Cain’s unique books, meant the body was preserved in decent conditions, treated so it will never decompose. Just in case angels have funerals with their coffins open, which Chloe has no clue about. Do they even do that, or is Lucifer adopting yet another human custom?

While she wonders that, he keeps speaking. “And I think I should invite my family to attend.”

Chloe inhales sharply. Farewell to their newfound peace, then. An army of angry, dragonriding angels coming to mourn for the father Lucifer almost killed – what could go wrong?

“Won’t it be dangerous? To have them here?”

“They would have to agree to a truce. I wouldn’t let them in otherwise.”

She nods. That’s good, at least. A truce won’t stop them from being harsh with their words, but she can be there to protect Lucifer from those or at least offer support. She wouldn’t stand a chance against them in battle, probably, but dealing with harassment? She is a woman in armor: that’s her specialty.

“Whatever you decide, you know I'm here for you, right?”

Lucifer smiles against her skin. She takes it as a yes. “And I you, Commander,” he says, then presses a kiss under her jaw. It’s short, but it sends a spark through her, and she shivers with suppressed lust.

It’s been a while, and… but no, this definitely isn’t the time. Lucifer is still recovering, and now he’s dealing with a loss.

But he does notice, and he lingers, nuzzling where he kissed. His thumb finds her pulse point, brushing across the prominent veins of the inside of her wrist. Almost involuntarily, Chloe bares more of her neck to him, suddenly feeling constricted by the collar of the doublet she has to wear under the plates.

“Let’s get you out of this thing, love,” Lucifer whispers, as if reading her mind. The suggestion is not necessarily sexual, so Chloe nods, fooling herself into thinking she will be able to quench her desire if it does turn out that Lucifer wants it, too.

The fact that Samael takes flight the moment they walk out of his bent wing doesn’t mean anything, of course.

Lucifer takes her by the hand and leads her inside, behind the partition that hides his bathtub from the rest of the room. He stops so she’s standing in front of his vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, and silently settles behind her. His height means Chloe can see his face as he looks at her reflection, his eyes getting darker by the second. If this is a battle, she has already lost.

He starts by freeing her of the belt holding the scabbard with her sword in it, which he leaves on the floor against the wall. When he starts undoing the straps at her back, Chloe basically groans, though from relief more than arousal, happy to feel her muscles relax and her chest expand at the lessening pressure.

“Long day?” Lucifer inquires, his fingers working expertly – he knows his way around a suit of armor even though his are made of leather, and at least to herself, Chloe can admit that it thrills her.

She usually lets Trixie or Ella help her with it, but never allowed a man. It’s a very vulnerable position to be in, a way to quite literally show your weak spots; but Lucifer will not hurt her. She knows now that he would die before letting any harm come to her.

“Yeah,” she sighs as his fingers unfasten the straps around her shoulders, his hands then removing the breastplate to place it on the vanity almost reverently, like a trophy. “I missed you out there.”

“And I missed you here,” Lucifer replies, settling behind her once again.

Chloe watches, mesmerized by his slow and deliberate movements, as he gets rid of the curved plates around her shoulders, elbows and arms. This part she could easily take care of, but leaving him in charge of it is almost empowering.

He is no servant, could never be, but she knows he'd kneel for her.

And he does, literally, to work at the armor covering the lower part of her body since today there are no gauntlets on her hands to get rid of. Chloe lifts one leg and then the other for him to remove her boots after unfastening the straps of the long plates covering the front of them. Then he releases her shins, kneecaps and thighs, revealing the wool stockings underneath.

The padded doublet, dark like the armor itself, is a clear barrier between him and her skin now. He looks for confirmation in her eyes, and when he finds it, his arms circle her shoulders to work at the thread holding it together. He tugs at it hoop after hoop all the way to her waist, until he can pull it off of her.

“So many layers,” he chuckles, his voice more gravelly than usual, as he finds himself staring at a white, sleeveless linen under-shirt. “_Too_ many layers.”

And then he steps closer, his bare chest against her still covered back, his warm hands on her hips. He kisses the nape of her neck, then reaches up to tug at the pins holding her low bun together, letting her hair tumble down over her shoulders.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, pressing himself against her. One of Chloe’s hands finds its way into his hair without her even realizing it, and then she’s tilting her head back and kissing him, surrendering. Lucifer melts, as he always does, his arms now locked around her waist.

His tongue against hers makes her whimper in his mouth: she has missed this, so much, her kisses always chaste while taking care of him since the demon rebellion. And he has, too, judging by the way one of his hands sneaks under her shirt to travel up her stomach and cup her breast, kneading and possessive as he moans at the feel of it in his palm.

But when his other hand moves down instead, slipping past the hem of the stockings, she freezes. Is this what he really needs right now? Shouldn’t she give him time to process and grieve? Why is she being so selfish?

“Lucifer,” she whispers against his lips, her own hand circling his wrist to stop him, “I- I don’t think this is the right moment.”

The angel flinches, both of his hands retreating. “Oh,” he says, taking a step back and wrapping his arms around himself with a sheepishness she doesn’t understand. “I'm sorry, I know they’re ugly to look at.”

“What are you-” The wings. He means the wings. “_Oh_, Lucifer.”

Chloe turns around, walks up to him and kisses him again, harder, cupping his cheeks to hold him firmly against her. She swallows his sound of surprise, then uses his shoulders for leverage to lift herself up, knowing he'll get the hint. Lucifer does, catching her when she jumps to wrap her legs around his waist, his strong arms holding the back of her thighs.

And then she is being crowded against the vanity, lifted to sit on it and kissed senseless by a frantic, desperate angel. If this is what he needs, he can have it, all of it, of _her_.

“I've missed you,” Lucifer whispers, his lips kissing down her throat, but this time he means more than her mere presence or company: he means _this_, _them_. Chloe pushes him away to quickly gather the fabric of her linen shirt and pull it over her head before discarding it on the floor; then she does the same with her stockings, until she’s finally, _finally_ naked before him.

Lucifer looks at her as if it’s the first time he sees her body. “_Chloe,_” he croaks, his thumbs rubbing almost painful circles around her hipbones, “Chloe, _please_.”

Oh, it does sound sweet, but he doesn’t need to beg her. “Shhh,” she cooes as her fingers work at the crisscrossing thread keeping his trousers up, “I'm here, I'll take care of you.”

And she will, because he suddenly seems unable to do anything but watch her, twitching from pent-up frustration, sadness, anger, need. She pushes the slacks down his legs, then touches him with practiced ease while holding the side of his face close to hers, whispering encouragement in his ear until he shakes from it, sparse feathers and all, and pleads again.

Then she guides him inside her, gasping at the hint of pain but mostly at the warmth, the fullness, the unmistakable sense of being _whole_.

“_Yes_,” Lucifer breathes against her lips, wrecked, pulling her flush against him.

Chloe's legs wrap around his waist, her fingers tangle in his hair, and then they’re kissing and he’s moving and the whole world is suddenly reduced to the way he feels in her arms, between her legs; hot and solid and panting, perfect more for his humanity than his divinity, for how fragile he still seems despite being taller and stronger than her, despite the hellish fire he can bring down on the world.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him – she can’t stand for him not to know. “_They_ are beautiful.”

Lucifer lifts his face from where it’s tucked in the crook of her neck and looks at her. There is a question in his eyes, and although Chloe doesn’t know what it is, he seems to find the answer in hers. His still healing wings bend toward her, circling them both as they did under a storm of dragonfire. She can tell that it means something to him, something deep.

“I thought of doing this so many times,” he says, confirming her suspicion. “To feel you with them, touch you with them, hold you with them. But still, I don’t regret what I did. Oh, my darling, I'd burn a thousand times for you.”

Chloe hopes he'll never have to again, eager to forget the nightmarish weeks they just went through. Speechless, she pulls him in for another kiss; and from that point on, they lose track of time, of the world itself.

Lucifer is restless, not knowing where to touch and settling for everywhere: he thumbs her nipples, strokes her hair, grips the flesh of her ass, traces the contours of her lips before their mouths are joined again.

The dragontooth necklace she never had the courage to take off moves between her breasts to the rhythm of their hips, and he touches that, too, overwhelmed by its presence when he looks back at her. He gave it to her so it would protect her, but now, Chloe keeps it as a reminder that _he_ always will, both in this form and with the one that cuts the clouds on darker wings. And as inadequately human as she is, to the best of her abilities, she will protect him, too.

After a while Lucifer turns a bit rough, but Chloe wants him to be: let him leave his mark on her with fingers and lips, with nails and teeth, for _her_ mark on _him_ is a much more painful affair, one that will take longer than a scratch or a bruise to go away.

When he comes, when _they_ come, a marvellous thing happens: his half-formed wings lock around them so tightly that Chloe knows, with absolute certainty, that she has never been truly one with him before this moment. Both feathers and raw, tender skin brush against her back and it’s _him_ touching her, holding her in a way he never could before, one he dreamed of, one he cried over.

Now, finally, she understands what it means to love an angel.

Their foreheads are pressed against each other as they come down, breathing the same air – a gesture that is now theirs, too. Lucifer kisses her sweetly, capturing her lips and then releasing them, one of his hands brushing sweaty hair from her face.

A twitch in his back, one that reverberates all along the arches of his wings, distorts his features, and Chloe frowns.

“Do they hurt?” she asks in concern, cupping his face so he can look into her eyes and be coaxed into not downplaying it.

“A bit. It’s okay.”

She gives him one last peck. “Let’s get you to bed.”

At his insistence, Chloe carefully peels the black vest off his shoulders, doing her best to slip it off without the fabric touching his sensitive limbs. She pulls his trousers off completely, and together they lie naked under the sheets, the satin stopping just below the base of Lucifer’s wings. Chloe’s fingers itch to touch, to bury themselves in light and softness and warmth, but she’ll have to wait for that. At least now she knows that day will come.

Turned on her side, she rubs circles into the small of Lucifer's back, and he watches her with a heavy gaze, lying on his stomach with his cheek over his joined hands.

“What do you think we should do with Cain?” he asks after a while – how fitting, that this is the kind of pillow talk they would share. “Maze told me they executed the demon who did it, but it all comes back to him, doesn’t it?”

Chloe feels like it’s time to voice a request she’s been holding inside her for a while. One last step to try and embrace who Lucifer is, and what it means to believe in the justice of dragons.

“I want you to show them to him. His… his sins in Samael’s flames. But I want to be present. I want to know what that does to people.”

Lucifer inhales sharply, but Chloe keeps soothing his tension with her caresses. She knows he is scared of rejection again, and she honestly doesn’t know what will happen if the spectacle will be as disconcerting as she assumes. But she is confident that, somehow, they’ll find a middle ground.

“Very well,” the prince agrees. “But… can it wait until after the funeral?”

Meaning: _I don’t know what you’ll think of me after seeing that, and I need you on my side to face this_. Though a bit heartbroken at the reasoning behind it, Chloe does understand.

“Of course.”

Her angel smiles, then closes his eyes. With new troubles on the horizon, they fall asleep together.

And together, they’ll be okay.


	18. Another Kind Of Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mazikeen and Chloe help Lucifer make arrangements for the upcoming funeral of the king.

“No.”

“But-”

“Absolutely not!”

Leaning against the wall, Maze crosses her arms over her chest and challenges Lucifer to a staring contest. What is this bullshit now? Did he leave her in charge on purpose to make her rule a strategic nightmare?

The stubborn angel glares back at her, perched on a stool to give space to his wings. Patches of skin are still visible, but at least they are not the dead, leafless branches they used to be. She thought she had seen the worst when they were cut off, but more recently, in that same throne room, she had to reconsider.

Still, all the more reason to keep _those people_ the fuck away.

Chloe steps between them, her hands raised in a calming gesture. Without her, Maze is pretty sure she and Lucifer would be screaming in each other’s faces already, but as usual the human’s presence makes him guarded, more controlled. She is not sure she likes it, even now.

Anger was easier to deal with: all she had to do was answer with her own. But _reason_? Sensible discussion, listening to multiple _opinions_? What has the world come to?

“Mazikeen, don’t you think this is, well… Lucifer’s decision to make?”

Right. Of course she’d take his side.

“Is it? As far as I can tell, the decree is not revoked. So until further notice, _I_ decide if I want that crazy cult of winged fanatics to enter _my_ city. Not to mention their dragons.”

Lucifer sighs in exasperation. “For the hundredth bloody time, Mazikeen, I would ask them to come unarmed and fly here themselves, or if they insist, to leave the dragons _outside_ the city. I don’t want any trouble with Samael, and the wild ones bred like rabbits, so I don’t think we have the space to host more.”

There: reasoning, discussion, opinions. Utter nonsense.

“Still. Don’t you get that it’s a danger for you? You are _mortal_ with her here, and something tells me you won’t accept to keep her far. They could hide weapons somewhere, or have some other trick up their sleeves. The only one obsessed with not lying is _you_. I don’t trust them.”

Lucifer seems at least endeared by her show of care. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Maze, I… I think I owe this to them. He was their father, too.”

Her mouth opens comically, she knows. “Owe? _Owe?_ You don’t _owe_ them anything! They abandoned you! Betrayed you! Watched without doing or saying anything as your-”

“Maze.” Chloe sounds stern, but her eyes are gentle. “That’s enough.”

Maze scoffs and looks away, chuckling bitterly. She wishes Lucifer would just let it go already: blood relations don’t count for shit, or at least not necessarily. All her mother Lilith ever did was give birth to a litter of Lilim and send them into the world to torture the humans she despised, like pests let loose on purpose to destroy a field of crops.

Whatever life you want for yourself, you have to be your number one supporter. Self-worth comes from within, lords, ladies and bitches.

“You really think I don’t?” Lucifer asks, genuinely curious despite _all_ the times she has said this exact same thing. “Not even after mother? After… after…”

He closes his mouth shut, his jaw clenching. Chloe reaches his side and places a hand on his shoulder, knowing as well as Mazikeen who it is that he’s talking about: the little sister Maze never really knew (demons were less than rats at the time, performing their duties in silence), but that Lucifer loved very much.

“How many times do you want me to watch you do this to yourself?” she scolds him, furious again. If this is what it means to feel as deeply as humans, she is fine without. “How many times do I have to say this for you to believe it? Everyone made choices back then, choices that had consequences. Your mother when she set out to look for you, unarmed and dragonless – how stupid was that? Your father when he took it out on you, your siblings when they let it happen.” She hesitates, knowing the next part is something he doesn’t want to hear. “And even Azrael, aware that her dragon was not ready to join you in battle.”

As predicted, Lucifer bristles. “Don’t pin that on her. Don’t you dare-”

“Lucifer, I get what she’s trying to say,” Chloe intervenes, gently keeping him on the stool when he makes to stand up. “She just means that every person is responsible for what his or her actions cause. You can’t blame yourself for _everything_. And, to be honest… if you want them here to be punished again, if you _want_ them to mistreat you… then I'm with Mazikeen, and I'll tell you you shouldn’t invite them.”

“_Thank you_,” Maze exclaims, raising her hands in the air in gratitude. “Maybe you'll knock some sense into him.”

Lucifer seems surprised by the Commander’s change of heart, now alone against the two of them. But when he speaks again, Mazikeen’s hopes shatter.

“It’s not like that. I promise. It’s just… they never retrieved my mother’s body to cremate it. And Azrael’s, I… I don’t know if they bothered, with how many there were.” He shivers. “I know Maester Lopez preserved my father’s corpse for an eventual ceremony, so… maybe it will give them closure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure seeing him burnt to a crisp and with a slit throat will put them in the forgiving mood,” Maze deadpans. Honestly, did dragonfire also compromise his intelligence?

“Well, it’s settled, so deal with it,” Lucifer snaps. Oh, Maze would _so_ try to punch him if it wasn’t for the wings, a reminder of how weak he is, of how easy it would be to overpower him. _Too_ easy. And yet he'll put himself in danger for some stupid angelic custom, an offer of peace that will go nowhere.

_I'll always be there to stop the danger, whether you see it coming or not_, she told him once. So many things have changed since then, but this one… this one never will.

“Fine,” she sighs, hating everything about this already. “I'll make… arrangements, then.”

She pushes herself from the wall and walks to leave the solar, passing by them, but Lucifer catches her hand and squeezes it, stopping her. An unusual gesture, though not unpleasant, that takes Maze by surprise. It’s something he never did before, not even after she washed demon blood off his trembling body, not even when she was the only one he could have let himself mourn with. Because back then, he was hell-bent on not showing any weakness, not even to her; and truth be told, maybe she was not ready to see it, either. But things are different now: _they_ are.

“Thank you, Maze,” the Dragon Prince says, his kind words making the shift even more obvious. They lock eyes, and she gets it: all is forgiven.

They don’t do the whole talking thing, the “let’s express our feelings and tell each other why we think we were in the right” routine humans go through, but they don’t need to. And in his show of something akin to affection, Maze senses that Lucifer knows he has to be forgiven, too: for pushing her aside, for treating her as inferior all these years.

But no more, now. Whether he'll resume his position or not, Maze knows she’ll be held in higher consideration from this moment on. Well, while still enduring his usual stubbornness, that is.

On the way out, she already starts thinking about how to prepare. Crowd control would better be left to the City Watch, which now includes humans, too: a good choice, as much as she hates to admit it, because it will make the citizens feel safer. The Princeguard can patrol the city walls to watch for dragons potentially sent to surprise them, in case the angels don’t respect the terms of the truce, and maybe she should also arrange for a small party of demons to follow and protect Lucifer during the funeral.

But her main worry? Michael.

Harsh, cruel, calculating Michael, a mirror image of Lucifer but also everything he is not. Where Lucifer burns hot and fierce like fire, Michael is cold and sharp as ice, and both are deadly things.

Can she trust him not to try and cut Lucifer’s wings again when he sees them? Lucifer can’t hide them yet, and she fears their flesh and bones might be even _more_ tender during their delicate healing process.

Even if they get the angels to come unarmed, good luck convincing those feathered pricks to be touched and searched for weapons to make sure, and anyway, there are _other_ weapons in the castle they could steal somehow. No, Mazikeen has to think of something.

Determined, her feet carry her to the armory, but further inside past where everything is stacked and regularly taken out to be polished (not by Squee anymore, who got spared his life, but was also exiled for his involvement in Cain’s plans when he delivered the sword that killed the king). In the back, there is a stifling hot room: the hidden world of Kimaris, the female blacksmith who makes and fixes armors.

The beautiful Lilim, human in appearance like Maze, has hair the color of blood, long and curly, a tangle of snakes. She’s hard at work when Maze enters, her heavy hammer thumping down over a flat piece of iron she is holding over hot coals. The demon stops immediately when she sees her, rubbing her sweaty face clean with her sleeve. Then she sets her tools aside over a raised column of stone and smiles.

“Mazey,” she greets her, taking her in with an appraising look, “it’s been a while.”

It has. Maze has been… busy lately, but oh, they used to be two wild things together. Before Lucifer let her into his bed, Maze would just storm in here after battle, full of adrenaline and fury to vent, to shove the other demon against the wall or sit in her lap and grind against her, both of them coming with the other’s fingers buried deep inside, punishing. They'd leave bite marks and scratches on each other’s breasts, bellies, necks, thighs, and Maze would be sore for _days_ after the roughness of their encounters.

Try as he might, Lucifer could never compare.

“I know,” she agrees, licking her lips at the memory. Kimaris does the same, staring at her so intensely that Maze pulses between her- but no, _no_, bad demon, she came here for a _reason_.

“I need you to make something for me.”

Metalwork excites Kimaris almost as much as sex: the glint of the challenge in her eyes is unmistakable.

“What do you need?”

Maze smiles as she anticipates the glee she’ll soon incite.

“An armor for angel wings.”

As expected, a feral grin spreads across the blacksmith’s face. “Oh, Maze, you always know how to turn a day around,” she praises. “Now get naked.”

Mazikeen shrugs and starts taking off her boots. Who says work and pleasure don’t mix?

~🔥~

Lucifer eyes the contraption Maze is holding in her hands. A proud smile sits on the demon’s face as she stands before them in the middle of his room. Next to the stool he’s sitting on, Chloe has her head tilted to the side as she also studies the… thing, or better, _things_.

“So? What do you think?” Mazikeen prods, jiggling two long strips of consecutive steel plates. They look like dead snakes in her hands, falling to the floor from either side of her closed fists, and the almost manic expression on her face gives the impression that she slaughtered them and is now waving them as hunting trophys.

“Wow, I… Maze, how did you even think of it?”

Mazikeen is so pleased that when he hears the answer, Lucifer chastises himself for not figuring it out on his own. “Oh, you know, I had a little chat with Kimaris and… inspiration struck,” she shrugs. He can’t help but laugh.

“Right. Inspiration.”

“Mmm, the best kind.”

The oblivious expression on Chloe’s face is absolutely delightful as she looks at him and then Maze, her hands on her hips. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

_Oh, you have no idea._

“Demon sex, Commander. Way out of our league, believe me. Hell, out of _my_ league. Have you ever heard of that famous demon orgy tale? Twenty limbs gone, if the bards sing it right.”

“Thirty,” Mazikeen corrects him.

“Thirty,” he parrots, flashing Chloe a smile. “And, what was it, thirteen missing eyeb-”

“As fascinating as this is,” the Commander cuts him off, all seriousness and no fun, “I think you should try that… thing… on, Lucifer.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, before standing up from the stool. He reaches out to take the two strings of wing armor from Mazikeen's hands, but she steps back and out of his reach.

“You have to turn around, silly. You can’t do it on your own, I have to put them on you.”

The suggestion is harmless, but the idea of giving his back to someone, wings out, makes him freeze where he stands. Rationally he knows there is nothing to fear, but his feet move of their own accord and he steps back, too, putting more distance between them.

“Forget it, it’s unnecessary,” he objects, swallowing audibly. “I'd just look like a bloody fool, or a coward.”

“Hey!” Maze snaps, outraged, “I had to work a lot to convince her it was doable! I won’t allow you to let it go to waste!”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, yes, must have been a lot of _work_, indeed. Are we talking tongue and fingers, or were you at least a tad more inventive?”

“Well, since you’re asking, we-”

“People! Focus!”

Chloe glares at them both, furious. Lucifer wishes she was more aware of the power she has over them, of how big a deal it is that a mortal can scold an angel and a demon and get away with it. The Commander sighs at their tense postures, before her gaze settles on him and softens.

“She had it made for your safety, Lucifer. Come on, let her help you.”

Why are they both being this sensible? This is what happens when you let demons take the initiative, he thinks bitterly, though he does understand and appreciate Maze's good intentions. But won’t it make him look like a weak, sad cripple? It’s bad enough that the wings have yet to heal completely, but he just couldn’t wait anymore and had the invitations and truce offer sent to the Silver City through a demon emissary on dragonback, waving a white flag for good measure.

His siblings will be here soon, and he has to be ready. But must it really entail _this_?

“You can’t make me,” he warns, fully aware of how petulant he sounds. Chloe’s face falls.

“Lucifer, we would never-”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Maze snaps. Lucifer sees her clutch the two strings of plates in one hand and lunge forward, so he moves to the side, wings whipping the air. But he’s not used to the larger wingspan – they were way smaller when they were cut off – so the motion makes him falter and almost lose his balance.

“Maze! Stop!” Chloe shouts, but Maze has already taken advantage of his uncertainty to duck down under the wings, come up behind him and push him against the nearest wall by the back of his neck.

Lucifer snarls and kicks back with a foot, hitting her knee. Mazikeen howls in pain and retreats, allowing him to turn around to face her, panting and slightly out of breath. All this movement is not ideal with the throbbing he still feels in his appendages, and if they keep at it, Samael will come back from hunting – which he only recently accepted to do again, seeing his master getting better – to protect him from harm.

“You’re just a big stupid bird!” Maze bellows, but when she makes to rush toward him again, Chloe steps between them.

“Give them to me,” she says, her voice calm, but from the tension in her back Lucifer knows she is ready to take action. The City Watch doesn’t employ knives, but she did become fairly skilled with them, only partially thanks to him: if Maze were to whip them out, there is a chance she might even get her hands on one and fight back.

Mazikeen looks at Chloe angrily, but after a few growling huffs, she surrenders.

“Fine, you try. I bet he'll listen to _you_,” she says as she hands over the wretched devices. The words are an echo of her resentment at him, at the fact that Chloe always seems to be able to get to him in ways Maze cannot. But will this be one of those cases?

Chloe turns toward him, the two parts of the wing armor now in her closed fist. Lucifer feels like a cornered animal as he watches her approach: bloody hell, maybe he _is_ a big stupid bird, fighting the instinct to puff up his chest and wings to look threatening. But he would never do that to her.

While maintaining eye-contact, the Commander walks until she’s right in front of him. She tentatively lifts her free hand to reach for his shoulder and get him to turn again, her face open and reassuring, but he can’t help it: his own hand shoots up, stopping her wrist.

“Don’t, please,” he begs her, tilting his head to the side. He lets go of her wrist, but the hand he just released finds its way to his cheek, grounding him.

“I will not hurt you,” Chloe promises. “I will not let anyone hurt you.”

Lucifer knows the second statement is something she can’t guarantee, but a part of him longs to see her do her best: his lovely Commander showing his siblings she’s not to be messed with. But the truth is, no matter his state, he'll have to be able to protect her, too.

He’s inviting enemies into his city, _their_ city, and the thought of Michael in her presence, watching her, noticing how much Lucifer cares for her…

He can’t turn down something that could be made into an advantage, if it came to a physical confrontation. Wings can slash through wings if their owners wish them to, though not as severely as angelic swords. A layer of protection could be useful, a way to even out the field, so to speak.

So he'll do it, for her. It’s so ridiculous, how it’s always her.

He _is_ a big, stupid, lovestruck bird.

Lucifer turns around and places his hands against the wall, parting his legs slightly. He can hear Mazikeen’s sound of exasperation at the fact that, indeed, he gave up at Chloe’s insistence, but he ignores it. Maze is probably right: he’s different from who he used to be. He would have never allowed anyone to touch his wings from behind if he had somehow regained them before he did.

“I'm going to touch them now,” comes Chloe’s voice. Lucifer hates that he has to be treated like something small and fragile, but all he can do is nod and close his eyes.

Chloe’s hand comes in contact with the arching bone of his right wing, feeling it to try and figure out how to attach the bloody thing. Muscle memory kicks in – Sariel and Gabriel’s hands holding the wings steady as Michael cut, but who was on which side? How could he forget? – and his whole body seizes up, fists clenching where he’s keeping them against the wall. His forehead joins them there, eyes and mouth closed around a whimper.

“It’s me. It’s just me,” Chloe says, but then Lucifer hears her hesitate. “Maze, how do I- please, come give me a hand.”

To his surprise, instead of refusing out of spite, Mazikeen quickly appears behind him. He really gives her less credit than she deserves; maybe he always has. As much as he has tried to see himself as a demon, in a way, he has always felt entitled to boss them around.

Has he been acting all that differently from his family, he wonders? Was his just a better form of tyranny they accepted for the privilege of dragonriding?

Is he the right person to rule them?

The thought sinks roots in his mind as if in the depths of pliant, tender soil, and he leaves it there. It isn’t the right time to think on it, but he will.

His musings, as short as they are, distract him from what is happening at least for a moment, but it’s enough to make him relax as two pairs of hands work at his back. One is quick and efficient, the other more careful, but neither is going to hurt him, at least not on purpose.

The curved plates click into place one by one, from the outer points to where the bones meet his flesh, and he can’t help but ask, “How did you know the exact measurements to make it work, Mazikeen?”

The demon’s fingers stop, and after a beat, Chloe’s do as well.

“I… might have sneaked in here in the night to take them while you were sleeping.”

Which is very unsettling, considering how bad it could have gone if he had woken up, but there are way more troubling things Maze has done in her life, all things considered.

“What?” Chloe gasps. “Maze, that is so creepy!”

“Oh, come on, we both know he wouldn’t have let me do it while being awake! And I promise I didn’t take a look at your sweet cheeks.” A pause. “Okay, fine, I did. Not bad, Decker.”

“I know, right?” he jumps in, grinning when Chloe slaps his side.

“Hey. Be serious.”

“Yes, Commander.”

_Whatever you say, Commander. Whatever you want, Commander._ Ah, these two have him wrapped around their fingers, don’t they?

Finally, Lucifer feels their hands push at the thin strip of fabric that holds his vest together in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. Maze and Chloe gather it in the middle to clip the end parts of the armor down along the bases of the wings, their grip firm on the short feathers there. The whole process didn’t hurt as much as he thought, if at all, and the added weight is surprisingly light. The banter helped, too.

When the two women step back, Lucifer rolls his shoulders and carefully stretches his wings out to see if the armor causes any nuisance when they are fully spread. The plates, overlapping tightly when the two limbs are folded closer to his body, spread with them, so you can see each one clearly now. Even he can, his head turning from side to side so his eyes can trail along the outer parts.

Flapping still hurts a bit, but he tries that too, if only for a moment. He will have to try again at some point to make sure he can take to the sky, but for now it doesn’t feel like the armor would be an impediment if he were to wear it often. Only now it sinks in, that he will fly again one day – on his own, that is. So he turns around and beams, finding equally joyful smiles on Chloe and Maze’s faces.

“Feels good?” Maze asks smugly, because of course she needs to gloat now. Well, she’s earned it, he figures.

“Feels perfect. Thank you, Maze.” He thanks her so much these days; he should keep himself in check or she’ll get used to it.

“Awesome. Now, clothes,” the Lilim switches to the next order of business as if she put a lot of thought into it, which means she probably has. “I'll have a leather armor designed to be worn around the wings since they are corporeal, and you'll wear your battle crown, too: the whole deal, the one they’re used to seeing in battle. No arguing with it!” She raises her index finger in the air to shush him when he opens his mouth to speak – _No embroidery? Really?_ – but he decides not to push it. “And don’t mention that you put me in charge or they'll take it for weakness.”

Then, Maze turns to look at Chloe, her eyes taking her in from head to toe. The demon is clearly unimpressed by the Commander’s ordinary clothes, which are admittedly always very loose.

“I'm not wearing leather, Maze. It’s the most uncomfortable thing anyone could have come up with,” Chloe informs her before the suggestion can even leave Maze’s lips. Lucifer watches her frown, amused. There is no mud for them to fight in, but this will be fun.

“Ah, you wouldn’t pull it off anyway,” Maze dismisses Chloe with a wave of her hand, though Lucifer knows she knows it’s a lie. He'll have to convince Chloe to actually have at least one leather armor made for her: she’d be breathtaking in it.

If she ever agrees to ride Samael with him, it could be a good opportunity for it. So many things have happened, and with how sore he is, it’s useless to ask again now. But he will. Or, hopefully, she’ll bring it up herself.

“Well, thanks. So that’s settled: I'll wear my City Watch plate armor.”

Mazikeen looks horrified, but then she stops to consider it. Lucifer fears she’ll end up abolishing the thing altogether: she’s always hated it, proud of the agility her fighting style requires, so it’s a good thing she doesn’t have to wear one.

“What about a disguise instead?” is her counter offer. “You know, something that will make you look innocuous, like a dress. With plate _underneath_. That way, if anyone tries something, you’ll have surprise on your side. They’ll keep an eye on every guard around them, but not on you.”

Chloe thinks about it for a moment, one finger on her lips. The Commander deep in thought as she works out a plan: one of Lucifer’s favorite sights. He can’t wait to be out there in the field with her again. He hopes with all his heart that after the funeral, delivering Cain’s hellish punishment in her presence won’t scare her away.

“That’s actually not a bad idea at all. But… a dress? Do I really have to?” Chloe pouts adorably. Lucifer has never seen her wearing a skirt since he met her, which is, to be fair, a thrill in itself. His Commander is no delicate little lady, and to imagine her with knives or a sword strapped to her stockings under feminine clothes… goodness, he should have arranged for some other kind of ceremony sooner just to get her to do this.

“Yes, you do. These are my orders,” Maze declares with finality. This time, she and Chloe are the ones glaring at each other, while Lucifer stands in the middle trying to come up with something to say.

“You’re taking this whole regency business quite seriously, Mazikeen,” he jests, sticking his tongue out for a moment. She does the same, defiant.

“Yeah, well, sucks for you.”

Does it, though? He realizes she is taking care of so many things, _thinking_ of so many things. Has this been in front of him all along? Her ability to make decisions, to impose her will?

He walks closer to Chloe and places a hand at the small of her back, hoping she’ll agree with him.

“We'll follow your lead, Maze. You know what you’re doing.”

Chloe looks at him with a question in her eyes, but her gaze softens almost immediately.

“Yeah. We trust you,” she says, echoing something he knows applies to him, too.

After a lifetime spent looking over his shoulder, this simple feeling is liberating. He will have to face _another_ kind of demons, those from his own past, but he has a real one in his corner, and he has love.

He's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the wing armor idea goes to the lovely ZeeLinn! This chapter basically exists thanks to you ❤ next, we see the actual funeral take place! See you Monday :)


	19. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer’s angel family comes to the Dragon City to say goodbye to King Hashem.

The gates of the Dragon City are closed behind them, ready to be opened again upon the arrival of their guests. Lucifer, Maze, Chloe and a small party of Princeguard demons wait just outside the walls, the top patrolled by other guards armed with crossbows. It doesn’t look like a warm welcome at all, but Maze pushed for maximum precaution, at least in the beginning.

His siblings have accepted to come without their dragons, a show of trust Lucifer appreciates. Still, there was no convincing Samael to stay behind as soon as he found out from Lucifer’s own consciousness that his family would be coming for a visit: that’s why the dragon is instead flying in a circle overhead, like a vulture around a carcass. His goal, though, is to prevent death, not eagerly wait for it.

Meanwhile, on the ground, Chloe shifts from foot to foot restlessly, tugging at the fabric of her dress from multiple points as if unable to decide which part bothers her more. The garment he had tailored for her is of beautiful red velvet, cut in a V shape in the front to show her shoulders and cleavage, adorned with the dragontooth necklace he gave her. Long-sleeved, the gown has intricate embroidery of white pearls and golden thread around the cuffs, the waist and the line hugging her arms and chest, the pattern resembling flames and crackling sparks.

Her hair, styled in a loose braid that flows down her back, is surrounded by a circlet he also had made for the occasion: a simple golden band that takes a pointed shape on her forehead, with matching jewelry along the side of her ears.

She looks spectacular: a princess straight out of any human fairytale, beautiful and seemingly delicate. But she is no damsell in distress, of course: under the bustier hides another one of leather (the only leather she eventually allowed), the piece following the curves of her breasts, and her arms and legs under the sleeves and skirt are protected by metal. His mouth waters at the thought of tugging at the thread holding the dress together from behind to peel it off and see what he knows lies underneath, but he'll have to wait.

And yet, his Commander is not happy. What a terrible crime, but a very amusing one.

“I hate this,” she grumbles, but Lucifer can’t really complain when the way she inhales and exhales to show her frustration exposes the top of her lovely bosom. He almost wishes she’d do it again.

“But you look ravishing in it, my darling,” he praises her, knowing it still won’t sway her. She was never one for flattery, at least not of this kind: one would have an easier way to her heart by speaking highly of her fighting skills, for sure.

“I still hate it,” she scowls as expected, “and I'm still going to take it off as soon as this is over.”

“Oh, I'm counting on that.” He licks his lips and grins. She gasps, but this flattered her alright.

“Ugh, you two.”

Mazikeen rolls her eyes, then looks up at the sky. Lilith is also flying in circles, creating a continuous spiral of black and grey scales with Samael. The purebred dragon’s presence makes her a little more subdued (though not when it comes to mating), so they figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her stretch her wings and serve as an additional warning to the incoming angels.

Something shifts at the edge of Lucifer’s consciousness – no, Samael’s, to be precise –; a thread to latch onto with metaphorical fingers. He lets his eyes turn red to see what the dragon is seeing, and there they are: a pack of winged creatures in flight, as multicolored as their mounts would have been.

“They’re here,” he announces, eyes turning back to brown. Chloe steps closer and takes his hand to squeeze it.

“And _we_ are, too,” she says. Maze nods, staring up to try and see for herself what her dragon cannot show her.

After a while, the angels become visible to their eyes as well. On perfect cue, Samael and Lilith land on either side of the small welcome party, crouching but alert like watchdogs.

Amenadiel, being the one leading, lands first. A cloud of sand shoots up from the ground at the touch of his feet, and he promptly beats his hands on his customary grey robe (did he not change once in all these centuries?) to brush off the dust. His wings, also grey but of a darker shade, are bigger than Lucifer’s given their age difference, but it’s how strong and healthy they are that makes him swallow despite the wing armor giving him confidence.

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel greets him with as much simplicity as he can, his eyes grave and serious as usual. The sight of Lucifer’s restored wings makes them widen, though: as far as Amenadiel knows, he was doomed to stay wingless at the touch of Raphael’s hands.

The dark-skinned angel opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again. Lucifer notices a difference in his appearance: his brother now wears a crown like him, a basic silver band shaped to look as if made of feathers.

“Amenadiel,” he replies, squaring his shoulders to look bigger somehow. At the same time, though, he folds his wings closer to his back, trying to hide the exposed patches of tissue, but he’s not sure if they are being purposefully ignored.

In another life, they would have greeted one another with the word _brother_, but that ended the last time they ever saw each other on the ground and not on dragonback. The day their mother died at the hands of humans, and Azrael in Lucifer’s shaking arms.

Fuck, this was a bad idea.

He snaps back to the present to catch Amenadiel staring at Chloe; specifically, at her hand clutching his. He squeezes it harder instinctively, lifting his chin in defiance. Amenadiel was always of very few words, especially when it mattered, so Lucifer can only hope he'll refrain from unbidden commentary.

The same hope, of course, would be useless when it comes to Michael. Lucifer’s twin is the second to land, black raven wings flapping exaggeratedly as if trying to send dust their way on purpose. His robe, similar to Amenadiel’s, is burgundy red, and his hair is curling and unkempt from flying. Similar as it is to his own, it obviously reminds Lucifer of the fact that at the moment, he can’t soar to the sky like he can.

Chloe’s body is rigid next to him now: from Mazikeen’s tale, she knows what Lucifer’s identical twin did. Michael looks at her, at their joined hands, at the dragon tooth dangling from around her neck; and then, finally, at Lucifer’s wings and the strings of plate discs along the top.

“Luci, you got your wings back! I have to hand it to you: you are always full of surprises! Although something seems to be wrong with them…” He inclines his head to one side and then the other, taking in their half-formed state. “Mm. I wonder what human sorcery you had to resort to for this to come to be.”

“This is no human sorcery, I assure you,” Lucifer says around a tight smile, his tone clipped. Michael appears to be unarmed as promised, but it’s hard to look at him without remembering or trying to punch him in the face. He reminds himself this is a different kind of occasion: the skies will be the place for that.

One by one, a few others of his siblings land: the twins Sariel and Gabriel with their hair and wings of gold; Baruchiel, his wings vibrant and luxurious like an exotic parrot's; Zadkiel and his white owl feathers streaked with black; Jehudiel, whose fate was not as kind and gifted him with canary yellow wings.

And there is Raphael, too, the peacock-feathered shaman angel who sealed his scars closed to keep him wingless. His head tilts to the side in fascination at the unexpected sight of Lucifer’s swan wings, before he catches their owner’s gaze and looks down, ashamed. To have done it in the first place, or to have failed? Best not to wonder.

Other angels land, but not as many as Lucifer anticipated: maybe, finally, they stopped seeing dear old dad as a god to be worshipped and his death didn’t have that big of an impact on their lives.

“No Uriel and Remiel?” he inquires anyway, intrigued by their absence, specifically. Not all angels had something to do with the events that led to his Rebellion, but their faces are certainly at the forefront of his memories of that day.

Amenadiel is the one to reply. “Remiel doesn’t have much love left for father after what happened,” – after Azrael, he doesn’t need to say – “and Uriel said you wouldn’t appreciate his presence because of something he told you back then. You know how he is, always thinking things over.”

Yes, Uriel was the one who informed him that he had to surrender if he didn’t want Samael’s wings to be cut off instead of his, but Lucifer never really blamed him for it. He doesn’t really know what to make of this gesture, but he supposes it’s for his own benefit.

“Sharur and Fatum will be happy, then,” he comments, speaking of Remiel’s and Uriel’s dragons respectively. Ugh, why is he wasting time with small talk? He’s so obviously avoiding what’s to come, the coward.

Unimpressed by his attempt, Michael carefully observes the armed demons on the ground and on top of the walls, then the dragons on either side of them.

“So much for a truce,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. Lucifer knew there would be objections, so he has the answer ready.

“You know I don’t lie, Michael. If I say no harm will come to any of you, given that you also refrain from violence, then I mean it. All this is mostly for the citizens to feel safe.”

Well, Maze and Chloe are also citizens, aren’t they? And they were the ones insisting for all these precautions.

“Right, the _citizens_. Human, I assume? You really managed to turn this city into your wet dream in the end. No need to venture out into the world anymore: you have them all right here now.” Michael doesn’t hide his disgust; Lucifer didn’t expect him to. But then, his gaze focuses on Chloe again. “Well, I see you have a favorite, though. Pretty, I'll give you that. Does she know you’re a murderer?”

Lucifer’s nostrils flare. He opens his mouth to speak, but Chloe beats him to it. “I know _everything_, Michael,” she says slowly, making sure he truly understands.

Michael raises his eyebrows, impressed by her boldness. A proud angel like him certainly didn’t expect a little mortal to have the guts to even address him directly. He starts to say something, but in a similar fashion, Amenadiel cuts him off.

“We are not here for chitchat. We are here to mourn the death of our father. I suggest we do that.”

Michael clenches his jaw, but doesn’t respond. Lucifer nods at Maze, who in turn gives a signal to the demons in charge of the gates. Once they are opened, Maze looks at the angels pointedly, until they understand that they are meant to walk in the front with them following. No angel should be allowed to be behind Lucifer’s back at any given time, she has made clear.

The temple where King Hashem's body awaits is easily reachable by foot, less than halfway between the city walls and the castle. Of course, Lucifer’s siblings could fly there, but as a basic show of respect for the fact that he cannot, they accept to walk.

In the sky, Samael and Lilith make their way across the city, too, but while Samael heads for the temple, Lilith seems to decide this is none of her business anymore and goes to land in the castle yard. At least she can be trusted not to wander, which is huge in itself.

All along the path that will lead them to their destination, Chloe's City Watch has arranged a series of poles and ropes to keep the human crowd away from the center, only able to watch but not interact. Still, this is a big event for people who have never seen an angel who isn’t Lucifer (and therefore, an angel with wings), so it seems like the whole city put everyday life on hold for this. Children stare in awe from their fathers' shoulders or behind their mothers' skirts, and everyone, from young to old people, is mesmerized by the spectacle of feathers passing by.

Lucifer’s siblings, cushioned between two rows of armed Princeguard demons and with Lucifer, Chloe and Maze right behind, walk with intent, seemingly unfazed by the attention. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he is heard, Michael asks, “So, remind me, Lucifer… how did our father pass away, again?”

He has explained it in the letter, of course. But Michael must know it will pain him to say it out loud.

“There was a demon rebellion. All sorted out now. But one stole one of my blades and killed him in his room.”

The details about Cain’s plans have been left out, mostly because Lucifer doesn’t trust his siblings with the knowledge. They would only use it as an excuse to take it out on humans again, thinking there was a grand plan to steal their dragons or something of the sort. The horn Cain planned on using to link his soul to Samael’s is locked safely in a chest in the Dragonfort and there it shall remain.

“A demon rebellion, I see. Makes you wonder why we kept them as slaves instead of giving them rights, or _dragons_. Doesn’t it?”

The blow hits him where he's already weak: right in that bundle of growing doubt about whether he truly is the kind of ruler this place needs. He was the one who unleashed them, so he felt like he had to be the one to control them, but is he?

At the same time… could demons be trusted not to let their bloodlust cloud their judgement, without his authority keeping them in line? Could wild dragons be trusted to behave and not take advantage of their riders' darkest instincts to do what they please?

He is clearly taking too long to answer, because Maze intervenes. “Makes _me_ wonder if any of that would have happened if we _hadn’t_ been kept as slaves. Why follow Lucifer then? You failed to control your own pests, angel, and they took over. But never fear: we went through a purge of our own, and the ones left are even more loyal to their Lord.”

Michael stops abruptly, causing another angel to almost bump into him. When he turns, he looks furious.

“You dare _speak to me_, Lilim?” he asks as he walks right into Mazikeen’s face. She stands her ground, staring into his eyes and baring her teeth.

Lucifer takes a step forward to separate them, but Amenadiel does it first with a simple yet commanding, “Michael.”

How did this dynamic come to be, Lucifer wonders? There must have been a duel, for sure. He bets Michael tried to seize power after the Field of Fire, convinced he was their father’s favorite when Hashem tasked him and not Amenadiel with punishing Lucifer. But the older angel must have won, which is for the best. Amenadiel is at fault for many things, but as a ruler, he’s certainly a safer choice.

Finally, they turn one last corner where the maze of cobblestone roads that is the Dragon City opens into a square. In the center lies the round temple where angels used to pay homage to the heroes of their legends, and where in the unlikely event of an angel being killed by another’s dragon (mostly from nomad attacks), cremation would be performed with the fire of his own beast before the creature's permanent departure.

Since Kyrios, the king’s dragon, is also dead, Samael is the one perched on the roof of the temple. The round and flat surface, in fact, has a hole in the middle, through which he'll be able to breathe fire downwards. Under him, in the center of the temple, Hashem's body lies on a marble slab for the occasion, and everyone in attendance will have to enter and watch from an outer ring all along the side.

But of course, Lucifer is a fool if he ever thought it would be this easy.

“No.” Michael stops again at the sight of Samael. “I told you, Amenadiel. I won’t allow for him to be burnt by the same dragon that almost killed him, or by any wild one! At best it should be yours, brother. Now that you’re about to see it happen, don’t you agree?”

Amenadiel sighs and turns to him. Thankfully the square has been kept empty of people and is only patrolled by demons; a decision made in case the situation were to escalate.

“Michael, we’ve talked about this. What does it matter at this point? It’s still a holy thing. It’s still what our ancestors taught us. In a way, isn’t it fitting to let Samael finish what he started?”

Lucifer grits his teeth at the reasoning behind it. It’s not wrong, and it’s precisely why it hurts. Chloe squeezes his hand, and he is reminded that she has been holding it this whole time, sure and confident next to him. Surrounded by deadly angels, his Commander is not afraid.

Michael shakes his head. “I can’t believe you'd let him. But thankfully, I suspected it.”

He looks up to let everyone know they should too, but Lucifer doesn’t need to. Through Samael’s red eyes, he senses Demiurgos dashing through the clouds toward the city, about to come into view. Michael must have kept him far so Samael wouldn’t feel it until the last moment, but long distances mean nothing when a dragon has to cross them.

Fuck, this was a _terrible_ idea.

On the temple roof, Samael spreads his legs and wings and roars, furious. On the ground, Lucifer vibrates with an anger that comes from both. The flames in his eyes _crackle_, and even Chloe gasps.

“You agreed to leave them behind,” he growls, disentangling his fingers from hers to grab Michael’s collar. “You _lied_.”

Michael grabs his neck instead, but Lucifer barely even flinches. “And you said no harm would come to any of us,” his twin brother snarls in his face. “Well, I say you are about to harm our _father_ and his memory, which is good enough for me.”

“Michael! Cease this!” Amenadiel shouts, followed by similar words of protest from Maze, Chloe and even some of the other angels present, but the twins keep staring and clutching at each other.

Michael’s eyes turn entirely black, a conduit for Demiurgos' eyes. The red-scaled dragon lands on the other side of the hole in the center of the temple roof and roars in Samael's face, a mirror image of the confrontation between the brothers.

“Last time you didn’t fare so well, Luci,” Michael sneers, reveling in the memory of the sword he managed to thrust into Lucifer’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just tell him to fly away, mm?”

“You first,” Lucifer murmurs, anger burning just as scorching as the fire in his gaze.

In response, Michael tightens his hold on his neck, lifts him up and throws him on the ground. Searing pain blinds Lucifer for a moment as his healing wings get crushed between his body and the stones. On the temple, Demiurgos imitates his master by lunging at Samael, who luckily avoids him. The two dragons start circling around the hole between them, looking for weak spots to attack; and on the ground, once Lucifer stands up, almost the same thing unfolds.

Chloe and Maze shake their heads at him, trying to tell him to hold back. Maze takes one step forward with her knives clutched in her hands, but demon steel will only prick: if she provokes him, Michael will hurt her – Lucifer is sure he doesn’t need weapons for that.

His brother’s black wings spread outwards, feathers rippling to get sharp. As painful as it is, Lucifer mirrors him with a grunt, though he has less feathers to fight him with. A further jolt of discomfort makes him aware that Demiurgos has bitten Samael’s neck, the two dragons now entangled on the roof, and that’s it, he’s _done_.

The two angels end up in a similar tangle, wings slashing left and right. One of Michael’s cuts his cheek, but when it comes down on one of his, Michael retreats in pain as the feathers hit Lucifer’s wing armor, thankfully proving its worth. Lucifer takes the opportunity to attack again, twisting his torso to use one of his wings as a moving blade, but Michael grabs it where it’s raw and tender and tugs.

Lucifer howls and falls on his back, catching his breath. Once again, his siblings watch, some voicing their disagreement, but they don’t step up to try and separate them. And this time, in a way, Lucifer is glad for it. He is furious, absolutely furious: this could have been a rather peaceful affair, an occasion for common mourning, maybe even a way to bury the hatchet. But as usual, he was fooling himself.

His moment of weakness, though, has cost him greatly: Michael is rushing toward him now, and he’s not sure he has the strength to get up in time. He sits up, raising himself on his palms to at least relieve the pressure on his wings. And then, something marvellous happens.

He catches her moving out of the corner of his eye, silent and stealthy: the Commander, _his_ Commander, his _Chloe_, quite literally lifting her skirt in front of everyone. She takes out Lux and Nox, his angelic swords, from the straps attached to the sides of her leg armor and runs, red dress falling back into place.

And then she’s behind Michael, one foot between his shoulder blades to get him to kneel, his head between her body and the two crossed blades under his chin.

“Retract your wings and get your dragon to behave,” she almost growls, pressing the blades closer to his neck. Lucifer’s heart skips a beat at the sight, at the sound of her commanding voice: oh, she is no silly princess; she is a goddess of war. He once thought of giving her a throne and a crown, but now he sees how inadequate such a gift would be.

But in the meantime, Michael just chuckles, and Lucifer is perfectly aware of how close his sharp feathers are to Chloe’s lithe frame, no matter how heavily armored. He makes to stand up and get to them, but his bloody sore wings act up again; and in Chloe’s presence, every hit he received hurts tenfold.

“Why would I do that?” Michael says around a laugh. “You can’t kill me, _mortal_. Not even a beheading will make you get rid of me.”

Chloe grins. It’s absolutely feral, and absolutely beautiful. “You sure, little angel? Then how do you think your father died?”

Michael hesitates. Lucifer’s brow furrows. Where is she going with this?

“He was weakened by his burns,” Michael suggests, voicing what has also been their assumption. But Chloe shakes her head.

“Convenient of you to think so. But you don’t even know _half_ of what human sorcery can do. These blades were treated with spells, and can kill you now.”

_I wonder what human sorcery you had to resort to for this to come to be_, Michael said when he first saw Lucifer’s impossibly regrown wings. Oh, the clever minx that she is: latching onto Michael’s ignorance and evident suspicion and fear of human deception to trick him. After all, _she_ never vowed not to lie. Lucifer is speechless from pure, unadulterated awe.

“You’re lying,” Michael protests, but his eyes betray him. He doesn’t know, he can’t be sure, and it terrifies him.

“Do you want to take the risk?” Chloe inquires, blades tightening more and more around his throat, and of course, Michael decides that the answer is no.

As his eyes turn back to brown like Lucifer’s, the two dragons on the temple roof stop fighting and return to their crouching, attentive positions on either side of the hole in between. Michael’s wings disappear from view, Chloe’s hair moving at the displacement of air they cause where a few locks have escaped the confines of her braid. She steps back slowly, releasing Michael’s head, but keeps the swords visible in her hands.

Lucifer finally manages to stand up from the ground and looks at her. He wants to kiss her so badly it’s almost impossible to stop himself. He doesn’t need his family, _this_ family: he has her. And no dragon, no angel, no warlock, no demon can compete with his mighty Commander.

Then he looks at Michael, and thinks back on Amenadiel’s words. _Isn’t it fitting to let Samael finish what he started?_

No, it isn’t. In truth, it’s more fitting to leave the honor to the dragon of the angel who always carried out father’s orders, no matter how brutal. Lucifer wants no part in this, he realizes now. Hashem might have shown remorse later in life, might have “gifted” him with the woman who now owns his heart, but his twin brother clearly loved him more – despite his cruelty, or maybe because of it. Didn’t Lucifer want to provide closure?

“If it means this much to you, Michael… yes, Demiurgos can perform the ritual. But after that, I kindly ask you to leave and take him with you.”

His change of heart clearly takes Michael by surprise. As impossible as it may seem, there is almost softness in his gaze as he nods. Amenadiel steps forward and touches Michael’s shoulder – always late to the party, but what can you do.

“We all will, Lucifer. You have my word.”

Lucifer nods in response. Aware of his decision, though not entirely on board with it, Samael grumbles and takes flight to land on his beloved balcony, leaving Demiurgos the space to proceed.

As they all finally move toward the entrance to the temple, Maze and Chloe fall back in line next to Lucifer, and the Commander’s hand – now free of a weapon – finds his again.

“That was hot as Hell, Decker,” Mazikeen praises her, making Chloe smile brightly.

Lucifer can’t help but agree.

~🔥~

Two marble statues stand tall on either side of the temple, once inside, almost touching the open ceiling. Metatron and Sandal… well, two angels, no, _archangels_ of old, Lucifer told her. When there was a Heaven, and a God to crown, if you believe the myths. Who knows, maybe there still are, just out of reach.

Be that as it may, the arms of the two are raised in the air to clutch indeed a big circle of metal, big enough to make sure the fire of the dragon perched on the roof won’t melt it as it shoots down through it. Still, Chloe can see that the edges have changed shape over time, making it look unevenly, grotesquely twisted. This way, the archangels symbolically crown the deceased as his body is bathed in fire and turns to ash.

Before the cremation, Lucifer’s siblings kneel near the slab where Hashem lies dead, arms crossed over his tunic-covered red chest. While Ella preserved the corpse with ointments she put together thanks to her new books, a demon skilled with needles closed the cut along his throat, though it’s still fairly visible.

At the sight of his already burnt flesh, one they might have glimpsed in the sky back then, the angels shoot Lucifer somber, accusing glances, but Chloe answers right back with glares of her own. She won’t stand in the way of their grief, but she will lash out at their recrimination.

“Goodbye, father,” Michael whispers, forehead pressed against the king’s joined hands. Two blond twins stand behind him – Sariel and Gabriel, if she remembers correctly – with one hand on each of his shoulders, offering comfort. Partners in crime back then to mutilate Lucifer, and companions in mourning now.

“Forgive us all,” one of the twins says (she can’t know which, of course). They probably feel like they abandoned him, or maybe, they want forgiveness for their failure in delivering punishment to the human town where the Queen of the Angels was killed.

For that, Chloe does blame humans: if their greed had not compelled them to murder her and sell her wings, none of this would have happened. But like Maze told Lucifer, they all made choices after. Each of them had a part to play, and this is the result: a family torn apart, siblings who hate each other and who have now lost both of their parents, but are barely even able to properly grieve together. A tragedy far bigger than it could – should – have been.

Lucifer doesn’t approach the marble slab in the center, illuminated by the rays of the sun streaming in from the hole in the circular roof. He stands to the side, cut on the cheek unable to heal in her presence, black makeup smudged after the skirmish with his brother. He could be made of marble, too, for all she knows – silent and still, though his hand in hers is not cold.

The flames of Michael’s dragon are reflected in everyone’s eyes as the ritual takes place. Under a continuous onslaught of fire, the cremation doesn’t last that long, really, but silence lingers afterwards – a stark contrast with Demiurgos' roar.

Then, the angel with the peacock wings steps forward and starts collecting the ashes in a vase he got from… somewhere in the temple, or that maybe he brought along with him. He mutters something in a language Chloe doesn’t know, one she suspects Lucifer now refuses to employ. The same scribbled along the infamous horn, perhaps.

Demiurgos’ head disappears from the gap in the roof, and with a powerful flap everyone can hear, Michael's dragon takes off to leave the city as promised. Well, good, because Chloe ran out of tricks up her red velvet sleeve to get the feathered prick to behave.

They let everyone file out of the temple, but the dark-skinned angel called Amenadiel stays and approaches them.

“Lucifer, before I go… I would really like to know how you got your wings back,” he says, surprising Lucifer, Maze and Chloe as well. Amenadiel seems to catch her wary, suspicious gaze, and his expression softens.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, I forbid wing-cutting in my kingdom. I assure you that I mean him no harm, Lady…”

“_Commander_ Chloe Decker,” she corrects. Amenadiel looks impressed.

“Right. I should have known from the way you handled my brother.” He smiles, and Chloe hates how wise he looks: it makes it hard to hate him. “Anyway, I just… I just want to understand. You see, back then father said that Lucifer did not deserve them and… I want to know how he proved him wrong.”

Lucifer looks conflicted: he’s probably scared to share information that could be used against him. But in the end, he seems to decide to trust his brother and nods minutely. Chloe has the feeling he will not come to regret it: Amenadiel looks like someone who struggles to take action, to go against whatever path has been assigned to him, but he doesn’t seem… evil.

“Very well. Send everyone else away and join me in my solar. We’ll talk there.”

Amenadiel nods in agreement and leaves to see to it. Chloe thought there would be some grand goodbye, but from inside the temple, she can hear that outside the angels are taking off one by one, powerful wings flapping off the ground. They came for their father’s funeral, but they clearly do not wish to interact further, and Lucifer waits until a prolonged silence confirms that everyone left. The truce, it seems, is over.

When they finally get out as well, Amenadiel joins them and walks with them to the palace. Once at the entrance, Chloe kisses Lucifer on his uninjured cheek before leaving him alone with his brother.

“Come find me in Ella’s workshop afterwards if you want,” she tells him, and he nods. Trixie and Ella, in fact, have been holed up in what used to be the library, which is now a space Ella uses for making potions and conducting experiments. Chloe’s head still spins at how her friend managed to climb up the social ladder by taking advantage of Lucifer’s good nature and inebriated state. It will never stop being funny.

After changing into more comfortable clothes – finally! –, the sight that greets her is even funnier. Trixie is sitting cross-legged on the floor, the books around her stacked so high that only the top of her head is visible. At the big table at the end of the room, Ella is tinkering with vials of many different colors, pouring liquid after liquid in a pot that sends out a smell resembling… rotten eggs, wet dog fur and stale cheese, if Chloe had to pinpoint it. Yet her dark-haired friend seems more than happy with her work, and Trixie looks like she couldn’t care less.

Despite the stinking air, Chloe has to admit it’s a refreshing scene after the heavy atmosphere she just left behind her. It always feels like Ella and Trixie live in a different, simpler world, and it’s good to take a walk in it from time to time.

She uses her sleeve to cover her mouth and nose and walks around the mess Trixie is sitting in.

“Mom!” her daughter greets her as she passes her by, “How did it go? Did you get to beat up an angel?”

Chloe stops and lowers her arm to reply. “As a matter of fact, monkey, yes, I did.”

“_Nice_. Evil immortal sorcerer, check. Evil immortal bird, check. You got this, mom.”

Well, Chloe likes to think she does.

“Chlo! What happened to the dress? You had to wait for His M- for _Lucifer_ to take it off! Haven’t I taught you anything?” Ella pauses, her eyes reduced to slits. “Wait, did he?”

Chloe sighs, but opening her mouth doesn’t turn out to be a great idea and she gags a little.

“No, he had to talk to one of his brothers about… well, almost everything.” She keeps walking closer, arm back in front of her face. “Ella, what _are_ you making?”

Ella’s smile is slightly manic when she answers. “Something to smooth out wrinkles! Might come in handy down the line, though I have to say, my skin is _already_ magical. But since someone here is into men who don’t age…” Her face falls at the look Chloe gives her. “Oh, I mean- My bad, forget I said anything.”

Chloe grits her teeth. To be fair, she never thought about it. Being with Lucifer is… a day-to-day experience to her, and somehow, she never thought about what will happen to them down the line. What’s the point of dwelling on it when the issue can’t be fixed? She is mortal, and he isn’t – well, not if it can be avoided. Who knows how many other evil masterminds will try to use her to change that.

And now, thanks to Ella, suddenly this is all she can think about. Great. It’s not like she doesn’t have other things on her mind already, between the prospect of witnessing hellish justice with her own eyes, an angel recovering from near death and his father’s funeral, and the possibility of riding a dragon for the first time; not to mention the burden of running the Watch of a massive city populated by multiple species.

“Hey, I'm sorry.” The little alchemist looks understandably remorseful. “It was a bad joke. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” What else can she say? And anyway, it _is_ fine. Her mind was bound to go there eventually, or Lucifer’s. At some point, they simply won’t look the same age anymore.

“So!” She turns and kneels next to the circle (more like a fort) of books surrounding Trixie, looking for a distraction as she waits for Lucifer. “What are we researching today?”

Trixie’s eyes are huge as she slowly looks up at her from the page she is reading. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, her gaze shifting between Chloe and the book.

“Mom, I think you need to read this,” she says, offering it to her. Chloe swallows, accepting it in her hands with worry. It doesn’t sound good, does it? Or maybe she is just being paranoid. She just can’t deal with more problems right now.

She briefly closes the book, keeping a finger in between not to lose the page, and reads the title: _Magical Artifacts and How to Use Them_.

The heavy tome is leather-bound and yellow-paged like most of those they recovered under Cain’s bed, and when she opens it again, the chapter she finds is titled _The Horn of Souls_. Before the text starts, an illustration shows an exact depiction of _the_ horn, the one Cain wanted to use to claim Samael's soul.

Chloe reads quickly through a physical description of it, then reaches the paragraph _Possible Usages_. Plural. A few catch her attention, and she looks up at Trixie to find her eyes sparkle with excitement.

“So?” Ella prods, trying and failing to glimpse what’s written there from behind the table. “What is it?”

Chloe chuckles, breathless.

“Something that will change everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were starting to miss my cliffhangers, admit it! 😅  
About this chapter:  
~ Sharur (Remiel's dragon) is "hunter" in Sumerian, and Fatum (Uriel's dragon) is "fate" in Latin  
~ for reference, [this](https://www.pinterest.it/pin/332281278732762570/) is the outfit I envisioned Chloe in, and [this](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/617571939807068160/sat-on-this-wing-armour-sketch-for-a-while) is Lucifer’s wing armor imagined by ZeeLinn. To be clear, in this case the sketches came _before_ the writing, and I just had to include the concept in the fic 🥰


	20. The Horn of Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe shares what she has discovered about the Horn of Souls with Lucifer, who has some revelations of his own.

Ella utters the last word of the chapter she has been reading aloud for herself, Chloe and Trixie. The three of them are all on the floor now, where only Trixie was sitting before.

“Holy… wow.”

“Yes, I feel like that sums it up.”

Chloe stares at the page for a bit longer. All she can think right now is that Lucifer has to be made aware of what they just learned. With his help, she hopes her understanding of it will become clearer.

Knowing that Lucifer won’t appreciate the smell of the anti-aging substance Ella was hellbent on making, which is still simmering in a pot, she takes the book and decides to go to his solar. Hopefully, his brother Amenadiel has left already, and they can discuss this.

Once at the door, though, she stops as a thought strikes her. When this whole research business started, Trixie and Ella were not looking for this: it’s information her daughter basically stumbled on. No, the original idea was to look for spells or potions that would make Lucifer’s wings heal faster or less painfully, or spring forth from his back all over again, new and unblemished. And almost as a side-project, Ella hoped she would find a clear answer behind the king’s surprising mortality.

Then, once Lucifer started healing quickly enough, Ella concentrated on alchemy and Trixie kept going just for the fun of it. But still, now that she has the chance, Chloe has to ask.

“Ella, tell me something. That whole theory you had, about Lucifer's father self-actualizing as a mortal because of guilt… did you ever find any confirmation of it?”

Ella brightens at the mention of it, probably pleased by the validation, but then she shakes her head.

“Oh, sadly, no. If Lucifer didn’t find anything in the books he already had here beside that fuzzy myth, I guess there’s just nothing definitive on the matter. I did acquire a bit more information though, and if I could spend time with other angels, I'm sure I'd be able to figure it out.”

Chloe chuckles, amused. She hasn’t failed to notice that Ella regularly calls Lucifer by name now, but doesn’t comment on it: she wouldn’t want the former maid to return to more formal ways or feel chastised for it.

“How, by making them feel guilty of something until you can prick them with a sewing pin?”

Ella shakes her head with a patronizing smirk – right, because now _Chloe_ is the ridiculous one. “That does sound like fun, but I don’t think it would work. According to me, there is only one way this can make sense, assuming the king did not simply die from physical weakness.”

Well, she clearly put a lot of thought into this. Chloe leans against the open door and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Still on the floor next to Trixie, Ella nods, big eyes even bigger. “Bear with me, yeah? So, as we know, angels are magical creatures – _divine_, as they originally came from Heaven. They were made to be perfect, and in Heaven, they probably would have stayed that way. But this isn’t their place, not really! And like Cain said, if they get attached to a human they basically _lose_ divinity.”

_Magic is whatever divinity is left in this world. But when entrusted to the hands of a human, it’s flawed, imperfect._

“But I think that’s just one aspect of it. Those ‘external stimuli’ affecting their nature could be many things, many aspects of our world they might be exposed to: human _emotions_ they were not created to feel, or that they are afraid of feeling. Things that can either make them feel good about themselves, like Lucifer getting his wings back because he felt _loved_, or make them feel bad – as in, literally _more_ or _less_ divine.”

“So, following your reasoning… every angel could be made vulnerable by a _different_ emotion.” Ella nods. “And what the king might have been scared of feeling more than anything was… guilt. Guilt for what he had done to his son.”

Ella smiles. “See? Say it: it does make sense!”

“It… does, yes. Though I'm not sure how Lucifer would take it, to be honest. Plus, we have no proof: it’s just speculation. And even if it _did_ work like that, we have no way of knowing if it’s what happened with the king.”

Ella watches her for a moment, pensive. “Oh, I get it. You think Lucifer would blame himself for it.”

Chloe sighs. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked about any of this in the first place.

“He already blames himself enough.”

On the other hand, he could also find solace in the knowledge that his father was remorseful for his actions. But what if some future discovery were to deny it? That would shatter him all over again. Or what if Hashem _knew_ that guilt would weaken him, and still allowed himself to eventually feel it?

But not just that: Cain was part of the plan that led to Chloe’s birth, a “gift” to Lucifer from his father. He might have suspected that the king felt guilty, and tried to catch two birds (well, angels) with one stone. After all, assuming physical proximity is always the catalyst to angelic self-actualization, Lucifer – source and cause of said guilt – was indeed in the castle when the king died.

It all seems absurd, though. Beings so ancient, unaware of such a flaw in their own nature? Well… unless they _are_ aware. Some, at least, or just the one.

Chloe thinks about the details of his youth Lucifer has been sharing with her lately: a childhood spent being told to be strong, to never show weakness, to rise above the inconvenience of any emotion. Years spent being chastised and punished for seeking human company, for repeatedly escaping a city humans used to be strictly forbidden from entering.

Was the king… _training_ his children so that they would never become mortal? Was he protecting his kind from literal exposure to humanity? Was his obsession with keeping Lucifer away from humans his way of caring? Was everything an exasperated, misguided form of affection, including the queen's eagerness to drag Lucifer back home before he could get attached to someone or be “infected” by emotions?

And was Hashem's intervention in the events leading to Chloe’s birth the proof that he eventually changed his mind, embracing the idea that love would be worth the risk if it made his son happy?

Ella’s gaze softens at the sight of her frustration as wheels spin and spin inside her head. Chloe fears smoke will start coming out of her ears at this point.

“You don’t have to face everything all at once, Chloe. You already have enough on your plate. And like you said… this is just what I think. Don’t make it into something more if you don’t – if _he_ doesn't need it to be.”

Endeared by her advice, Chloe feels relieved. Ella is right. Their reality is already hard enough without her adding more weight on Lucifer’s shoulders over something she is not even certain of. Maybe, one day… but not now. She has other matters to tend to now.

She leaves Trixie and Ella and walks up the Prince’s Tower. But before she can reach Lucifer’s solar, she runs into him walking down to find her and almost drops the book clutched against her chest.

“Commander,” Lucifer says in that affectionate way only he can manage, steadying her shoulders with his hands. He takes one look at her and genuinely _pouts_. “Oh, why must you be so cruel to me? After all, I had that dress made for you to wear. It was only fair for me to be the one to take it off, too.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. No matter how different, sometimes it’s like he and Ella think with one shared brain. “I'm sorry, Lucifer, it was killing me.” She smirks. “But if you stay put, I promise I'll wear it again some other time, just for you.”

Lucifer beams like a child who was just gifted a fancy toy. After all, she saw the effect the dress had on him, the way his eyes kept looking down at her cleavage, at her chest squeezed into the tight bodice and her legs once she uncovered them to unsheat his swords.

“It’s a deal, then,” the prince grins excitedly. “I'll be looking forward to it, Commander.” Then he tilts his head to the side, noticing the tome she’s holding. “Say, what are you hiding there, mm?”

“Let’s go up,” Chloe simply answers, smiling at him. As much as she loves the playfulness between them and how successfully she can tease him, sadly it’s time to get down to a _different_ kind of business, at least for now.

As they walk up the stairs together, she adds, “Your brother left?”

“He did. Ours was a rather… interesting conversation.”

They enter the room, and it’s clear that Lucifer wants to share more of it. Seems like her revelation will have to wait for a _tiny_ bit longer, so Chloe sets Cain’s book on the table and sits on a chair. Lucifer makes to sit on his usual stool, but then something makes him flinch where he stands.

“Uhm, could you…” He gestures at the wing armor on either side of his body. “It’s starting to… itch.”

“Of course.” Chloe smiles, quietly joyful. It’s just so easy to take care of him, and she likes that it’s easy for him to ask. She likes it even more when Lucifer doesn’t show any discomfort at her walking around him to remove the strips of steel plates from the top of his wings. He trusts her now.

Once she is done, Chloe takes the opportunity to free him of his dragonbone circlet, too, cradling it in her hands from behind to place it on the table. The armor dug into the feathers a bit, she notices when she looks at them again, but they only seem weirdly bent along the top, not damaged.

Emboldened by Lucifer’s confidence and ease, she wraps her arms around his neck from behind, carefully settling between his spread wings. She has to raise herself on her tiptoes, but she manages to kiss the nape of his neck, reveling in the hum it elicits. Then she gently pushes Lucifer forward until he gets the hint and settles on the stool with her standing behind him.

“Are you alright?” she asks him, taking advantage of the new position to bury her fingers in his hair, idly scratching at his scalp. Lucifer makes another pleased sound, almost a purr, tension melting away from him after such a tiring morning. The funeral must have exhausted him.

“I think so. Overall, I suppose it went as well as one could have expected.”

“You expected me to trick your twin brother with a lie and threaten to kill him?” she teases, trying to go for a light mood, which seems to be what Lucifer needs.

“Oh, Commander, thank you for reminding me of that. Believe me, I plan to reward you _immensely_.”

Chloe chuckles, looking forward to it. Whenever Lucifer feels inclined to show gratitude, his mouth is usually directly involved, and certainly not to _voice_ his praises. When her hands dig lower to work out a knot in the back of his neck and he moans, though, she remembers they have many things to discuss before that can happen. Pity.

Her eyes are drawn back to the crooked upper feathers of the prince's wings. Almost in a trance, her hands leave Lucifer’s neck to hover right above them, before delicately skimming over them in an outward motion to make their surface smooth again. Lucifer flinches, surprised, but doesn’t move away.

“Is this okay?” Chloe whispers, hopeful. She already touched them once to clip the armor on them, but her movements that day had to be focused and efficient. Now she can linger, and the warmth and light she can feel under her fingertips are seeping into her very soul.

“It’s more than okay,” Lucifer replies quietly. He seems a bit breathless and tentative, but his answer spurs Chloe on. She takes her time flattening the feathers that got crumpled by the steel plates, grateful for how different his reaction is this time. It takes a lot of courage, to allow oneself to be so vulnerable to another, and Lucifer does it in so many ways. She will never take it for granted.

When the very last feather on each wingtip is perfectly flat, Chloe puts her hands back on the angel’s clothed shoulders. She already misses the softness of his wings, but she originally wanted to ease the weariness accumulated in his muscles, plus she doesn’t want to cause the sore limbs any discomfort.

“There you go. All done,” she tells him with a playful smile he can’t see, but that he hopefully hears in her voice.

“Thank you, love.” That same kind of smile is evident in his tone, too, before he continues. “Well, you just gave me yet another reason to reward you. Which reminds me… where are my swords, Commander?”

There is a teasing lilt to his words Chloe doesn’t understand. Does he think she hid them or something? Where is he going with this? She frowns.

“Uhm, I left them in the armory before changing. Why?”

Lucifer tilts his head back to look at her, his grin almost upside down.

“Because I want you to have one.” His eyes are full of adoration, overwhelmingly so. “The way you looked when you pulled them out, the way you held them… I know it’s right. Will you accept this gift from me, my dear?”

_Another_ gift, this time with the exact opposite meaning from the one assigned to the necklace. A way for Lucifer to tell her that he trusts _her_ to protect herself and him, a way to empower her against any future angelic threat. A way to share with her something he has always used on his own, and on dragonback no less.

“Of course I will,” she smiles back, cradling his face for a moment to kiss him quickly but soundly, before returning her hands to his neck. “They are beautiful, and yours. I will be honored.”

Honestly, at this point she will _have_ to grant him his prize and wear that dress again. And, well… now she knows what other accessory to add to her ensemble. Lucifer clearly enjoys seeing how strong she can be, and she revels in it, always has.

“The honor will be mine,” Lucifer counters, his head falling forward again, eyes closing in relaxation. Chloe digs her fingers in and lets a moment of silence pass between them before speaking once more.

“So, anyway… how did it go with Amenadiel?”

Lucifer melts under her care: she almost feels like she’s literally massaging the truth out of him.

“I told him what was needed for him to understand, that I basically… gave myself the wings back, and he was very impressed. I think he started seeing me in a different way, though I'm not sure how I feel about it. It reminds me that I was… less, before.”

Chloe’s fingers tighten, though not to perform her ministrations.

“No, you were not. Not to me.”

“Darling,” Lucifer laughs, endeared, “for most of the time you didn’t even _know_ my wings were missing.”

“Still.”

Chloe unfastens the straps that hold his vest together at the shoulders, the leather getting thinner along the center of his back to leave space for the wings. Then she does the same with the ones at his sides and takes it off: Maze had it designed so that the breastpiece is basically made of two parts, front and back, linking together easily without disturbing the feathery limbs.

When she presses her fingers into Lucifer’s now exposed shoulders, more stress eases out of him, and she’s glad she had this idea. Firm muscles ripple and shift under her touch, turning soft like butter, and the prince’s wings droop lower and lower, signalling some sort of surrender she’s not even sure he's aware of.

“He said he'll discuss the possibility of a longer truce. Of peace, even. I wonder how _that_ will go with Michael.”

The news Lucifer just shared comes as a surprise, but a welcomed one. What are they even fighting about at this point? Their father is gone, their cities thrive. Chloe never truly got it to begin with. In part, she suspects immortals have a different concept of boredom and of what to do to avoid it.

“That’s great, Lucifer. I hope the others will put him in his place. It’s about time, I'd say.”

“It is.” Lucifer grows quiet, except for the little humming noises he makes as Chloe rolls her thumbs down the sides of his spine. “But first, Amenadiel made me another offer.”

A pause.

“He asked me to move to the Silver City. To go live with them again.”

Chloe closes her eyes, holding her breath. And here it is, her own descent. Time for _her_ wings to be cut off, for the wind to be taken out of her sails. The sword must have been a parting gift, she realizes, much like her appointment as Commander was, and the rest was just their usual, silly banter.

Because this is, she supposes, the reconciliation Lucifer always wanted or at least the start of it. Maybe not with his whole family, but even if it’s one sibling… it’s his _sibling_. A member of his own kind, unlike her. Was she really fooling herself into thinking that this, with all their differences, would last? That Lucifer would permanently agree to be with someone who weakens him? Despite it all, he'll probably just take his dragon and-

“I told him no.”

Chloe releases that breath she was holding, almost dizzy with it. Now, Lucifer’s shoulders are actually supporting her.

“Oh. I- I thought-”

Lucifer abruptly folds his wings closer to his body and turns around on the stool to face her. His eyes are heated and intense, more piercing than usual thanks to the black makeup.

“You thought I would leave you?” he asks, shocked, disbelieving.

“I…”

Two strong hands reach for her hips, pulling her into the angel’s lap. Chloe gasps at the sudden motion, but instinctively tightens her legs around him, her hands back into his hair.

“Commander…” Lucifer whispers, cupping her face in his hands, “_Chloe_. I could never. I _would_ never. I don’t- How could you even-”

Chloe doesn’t know who kisses whom first: what she knows is that their breaths become one as their lips meet urgently, and that even though Lucifer’s stubble pricks under her palms and against her skin, it’s perfect.

The kiss is hungry but reverent: Lucifer's fingers caress her hair, now released from the braid she sported at the funeral, and his mouth never travels lower as it usually does when he wants something more. Eventually they come up for air, foreheads pressed together, thumbs on the other’s cheekbones. Lucifer leans in for one last peck, quick and sweet, and brushes his nose against hers.

“Chloe, I have no place among the angels. Maybe I never have. As long as you'll have me, my place will be where you are. And… with this realization, came another.” He pauses, turning serious. “I'm not sure I have any place among the demons, either.”

Chloe’s brow furrows. Does he wish to leave with her then? She actually grew fond of the Dragon City, and looks forward to cleaning its streets of crime and vice with him at her side, once he's healed completely. For once, she managed to put down roots she won’t have to snatch away from the soil.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember when you told me that if I wanted to invite my siblings to be punished again, I shouldn’t do it?” Chloe nods. “Well, you were right. But isn’t it what I've been doing? I always thought I had to be the one to control the demons because I was the one who gave them too much power when I rebelled. In a way, perhaps it was so. But now I feel like my obsession with punishing myself blinded me to the truth, the _obvious_ truth, which is that… I'm not the right person for it.”

“Oh.” He wants to abdicate? That’s a big change, too. “Then who is?”

Lucifer raises both of his eyebrows as if to say, “You really need to ask?”, and he’s right, she doesn’t. Of course he’s thinking of the one who is already taking care of everything at this point.

Now more than ever, her news has to be shared. He has to know, and so does Maze.

“Lucifer, I discovered something that I think will make the decision a little easier for you,” she tells him, before standing up from his lap. Lucifer follows her with his eyes as she goes to retrieve the book, sits in the chair she previously occupied and shifts it closer to him.

When their knees end up pressed together, Chloe opens the book, helped by the corner she folded to find the chapter. She places it on Lucifer’s thighs, the tome turned in his direction.

“Read this,” she tells him, pointing at the paragraph about the many usages of the Horn of Souls. Then she sits back, and waits.

When he’s done, Lucifer lifts his head and gapes like a fish.

“This means that Mazikeen – that _all the Lilim_ – could get a soul. With them being virtually immortal, it would be strong enough to allow them to control their dragons almost as well as angels! With a bit of further training, they could be like my lesser siblings: the bond wouldn’t be as strong or as constant, but at least there would _be_ one.”

“I assumed you would say that. Apparently, given that we find _another_ Master of the Dark Arts, we can get him to repurpose the horn, rearrange the spell written on it to have a different function. Of course Cain _failed_ to mention this to his demons, otherwise they wouldn’t have needed him to claim Samael in the first place.”

Lucifer hums in agreement, then purses his lips. “Another sorcerer? Well, that’s a bit of a nuisance. Do you happen to know any?” he concludes playfully, clearly in a much better mood.

Chloe shakes her head at his antics. “No, but Ella said she could find one. I think she had a shadier life than she’d like us to believe.”

“To be honest, that doesn’t surprise me,” Lucifer quips, still bitter about how Ella charmed her way into what used to be his library – but at least she is turning out to be useful, Chloe feels.

“The only part I don’t fully understand is this one.” She points at it with her index finger. “_Soul magic always requires a sacrifice_, which is what Cain said, that all magic comes at a cost. But to _give_ a soul to one who doesn’t have any, it says that the sacrifice has to be the recipient's darkest, most precious secret. What do you think it means? How do you make a secret known to everyone?”

“I…” Lucifer hesitates. “I think I know how. And I also know the secret. But… we'll have to discuss it with Maze. It’s a big change: she might not agree to it.”

“Of course.” Chloe supposes he’s right. She doesn’t know what it means to _not_ have a soul and what it would feel like to suddenly have one. If Maze likes her life exactly as it is, they can’t force her. Since Lucifer planned on abdicating even before acquiring this knowledge, she imagines he'll still go through with it regardless.

She observes the angel for a moment, but he doesn’t add anything else. Odd. Chloe had assumed he would have a lot to say about _another_ function among those on the list.

“You… you read it all, right?”

Something changes in Lucifer’s gaze: it’s subtle, but she catches it. He knows where she’s going with this, but was trying to avoid discussing it.

“Yes,” he says warily.

“And?”

He looks so shocked, it’s almost scary. Does he not… want her to do it?

“Chloe.” As usual, her name adds seriousness to what he’s saying. “You can’t tell me you’re really considering it.”

Oh, so he doesn’t. Well, she’s not sure she does either, but she expected more support from him for sure, or at least a comment on the matter. She can’t believe she needs to spell it out.

“I would be like you. Not- not an angel, but… immortal. Unchanging. Wouldn’t that solve everything between us?”

He frowns. “I didn’t know there was anything that needed solving between us.”

Chloe scoffs. She doesn’t want to fight with him, not after the day he's had and the good moment they have been sharing, but how can he be so naïve?

“Of course there isn’t. You’ll love me just as much when I'm old and full of wrinkles, I'm sure. And I'm not saying in any way that you _have_ to, but be honest about it, that’s all.”

Wow, Ella’s words hit her hard, that much is clear. Chloe is shocked by her own outburst, but it’s out there now. She sounds so weak and bitter, even to her own ears.

Lucifer doesn’t reply, which is all the confirmation she needs. But since he doesn’t lie, Chloe appreciates that he didn’t try to. He cannot know, and a declaration of eternal love is something he can’t be sure he'll be able to keep his word about.

“Chloe… do you truly know what you would be agreeing to?” the dragonlord asks instead.

Chloe stares back at the book on his thighs and reads the line again, even upside down.

“_To change the nature of your soul, you have to sacrifice the one thing you care about the most_, and as you know, I am not one to get attached to things. My sword, maybe, or the one you just gifted me? The necklace, perhaps? You could always give me another dragonling tooth, anyway. Or… my work? Maybe that’s the one. I'll have to find some other way to help people, I guess, and-”

“Chloe.” Why does he keep saying her name? “This sort of magic seems… demanding. I'm fairly sure that _thing_ could just as easily apply to a person.”

_The person she cares about the-_

Chloe stands up so suddenly that the chair falls to the floor behind her. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, the other supports her weight as she leans against the side of the table.

“Trixie,” she gasps, heart beating wildly just at the idea. “You- you thought I would-”

Lucifer quickly sets the book on the table and stands up to cradle her face in his hands once again.

“I didn’t _think_ anything. You wouldn’t. Of course you wouldn’t. These things… they are for a different sort of people. Leave them to bloody sorcerers and demons, my love. You don’t need them. _We_ don’t.”

And no matter what the future holds, no matter how long they will last, Chloe knows he’s right.

~🔥~

Mazikeen stares at the page, her heart beating fast. She knows that Lucifer and Chloe are eagerly waiting for a reaction from her, but she can’t get her mouth to cooperate. Or better, it’s her mind that is struggling. What would this mean, really?

“Maze… say something?” Chloe tries to encourage her, but the sound of her voice only makes Maze snap. The Lilim closes the book, slams it on the desk and storms out of her room, leaving them there.

“I got this,” she hears Chloe say – is the human following her? Maze thought Lucifer would be the one to insist. After all, he is the one who knows what she has to gain and what to lose.

“Maze, wait!” she hears, but she doesn’t stop. If Chloe wants to, she can come with her where she intends to go, all the way out of the palace.

Lilith awaits in the big cubicle that is her lair, one of the many making up the dragon stables around the innermost yard. The most difficult specimens are kept heavily chained, but Maze has been a good trainer, and occasional temper tantrums aside, she trusts Lilith not to cause trouble. Because it’s all she can do, of course. Trust. She can’t _tell_ her anything.

Maze opens the door, wooden but reinforced with iron, and slips inside. As expected, Chloe does the same, then closes it behind her.

“Oh. I've never seen her from this close,” she says, her back pressed against the flat surface. Her smile is tight: she is afraid, but doesn’t want to admit it. She knows Lilith is no Samael, and that Maze is no Lucifer. That something there is… missing.

“I’ll never forget the day I tamed her,” Maze muses, slowly walking around the she-dragon in front of them, the walls encircling her body but leaving enough space to move around her. “The way it made me feel free. I earned it, it was _my_ thing, you know? So big for someone who never had anything before.”

Lilith’s white eye observes her warily, following her almost all the way back until it can’t. Maze steps past her coiled tail and walks back toward Chloe, but when she dares to try and stroke the dragon’s side, an angry growl starts taking shape from inside the creature's belly, and she can see fire crackling through the lines between the grey scales. Maze pulls her hand back as if burnt.

“I never thought I could have more, so I learned to live with it.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side. “But… you do want more?”

“You mean, if I want what Lucifer has? With her?” Chloe nods, and Maze smiles bitterly. “Well, fuck, of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”

The Commander of the City Watch nods slowly, her investigating mind hard at work. “But you’re afraid of the cost to pay.”

If she and Lilith were connected, this would be the time for angry growling, flaring nostrils and smoke coming out from jaws; but alas, Lilith doesn’t know nor share Mazikeen’s outrage.

“I am not _afraid_.” Who does Chloe take her for, a mortal?

The human’s hands come up to soothe her with a placating gesture, palms flat toward her.

“Fine, fine, you’re _concerned_.”

“That’s better.”

She stays silent then, so Chloe waves her hands emphatically as if to say, “Go on.”

“I…” Maze looks at her, but not just that: she thinks about everything that happened ever since Chloe came along. “I don’t know if I want to… feel. Like you, or him. I mean… look where _feelings_ got him. He had his heart broken, his wings burnt, he basically almost died.”

Furthermore, Maze was instrumental in breaking his heart, and that made her feel guilty even _without_ a soul. She doesn’t want to be even weaker than that. She wants to be strong, unfaltering, decisive; not burdened by human inconveniences, the same ones Lucifer likes to recklessly embrace.

Will she have to lose control of everything else to gain control of Lilith?

As if summoned, the dragon rises, forcing them to stand even closer to the walls – well, door, in Chloe’s case, the woman ready to bolt at any moment. Lilith crawls toward a corner, using the thumbs of her wings for support, and shoves her snout in the big iron trough attached to the wall there. Her mouth reemerges, teeth holding a dead sheep in their grip.

“Do we, uh, have to stay here?” Chloe asks, wrinkling her nose as Lilith starts tearing through flesh and bone (she could swallow it whole, but likes to savor it).

Maze chuckles. “No, let’s go back out.”

Once they do, they linger in the yard, the Dragonfort tall and looming before them.

“Mazikeen, can I be honest with you?”

She rolls her eyes. “This is the part where no matter what I say, you will be anyway?”

Chloe laughs. “Well, you got me there. So I’ll just say it. Maze… you _already_ have feelings.”

What is up with this woman today?! Does Maze have to whip out her knives to knock some sense into her?

“You take that back!”

The look Chloe gives her is, instead of challenging, deeply endeared. Maze desperately wants to wipe it – punch it? – away.

“You care about Lucifer. You don’t have to admit it, but you know it. You were… remorseful, after you showed me his father’s face and he left, and you have been doing everything in your power to protect him ever since he got injured, especially after you knew his family would be coming. And you care about Lilith, clearly.”

Maze doesn’t understand. “So… what do you think would change?”

Chloe shrugs, looking away for a moment. “Maybe… maybe the difference will be that you will _embrace_ your feelings. I can’t promise you will control them – who can? – but… to feel is not necessarily bad, Maze. It can be so, so amazing, too.”

Mazikeen considers it carefully, recalling the conversation she had with Lucifer before he showed her the book. “And if I do this… Lucifer will make me Queen?”

She never dared to hope for something like this. She has always been content with her role, respected by her kind (minor rebellions aside). But ever since Lucifer hinted at it… Maze knows she deserves it.

“Honestly, I think he will regardless. It would just make him feel safer to know all dragons would be kept under control. And with you as queen, if you do this… the other Lilim of the Dragon Army will, too. Well, assuming they'll want to share their… deepest, darkest secret.”

Ah, yes, that. No matter what Maze decides, this seems like as good a moment as any to tell.

“You know, I've actually… showed mine. To your spawn.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows. “You have?”

“Yeah.”

_“Does it hurt?”_

_The raw muscle twitches, almost as if wanting to answer on its own, and small, curious fingers retreat from too smooth skin, alarmed._

_“It does. With a lot of concentration, I make it hurt less. What… what do you think?”_

_Trixie studies it further, making her squirm. “A dragon did that to you?”_

_She nods. The girl’s face brightens in awe._

_“I wish I had a battle scar to show, too. Why do you hide it? That is so awesome, you should be very proud!”_

Maze smiles fondly at the memory, and at Chloe.

“I still need to think about it, but your daughter’s reaction… it helped,” she tells her. Because especially after _Chloe_’s reaction at the sight of the king’s burns, Maze had no intention to abandon her disguise. Not for vanity, not really, but who would want others to look away in disgust? The only fear Maze wants to incite is that in the heart of criminals to be tortured, and angels to be chased in the sky.

Which she’ll probably have to go without, if the peace treaty also mentioned by Lucifer is going to happen. Great, there goes her fun for the rest of eternity.

Even without knowing the whole story behind it, Chloe smiles back.

“I'm glad she helped. She’s good at that. And… you take your time, Maze. We are in no rush. Lucifer and I… we have something else to take care of. Well, someone.”

Oh, about fucking time. Cain's stay in the dungeons has been a vacation so far, with the brazier in his cell left empty of hellish fire. Maze hopes Chloe won’t insist for any major change in that regard, because future Queen Mazikeen would like things to stay exactly as they are, thank you very much. You can put a soul into a demon, it seems, but good luck taking their love for torture out of them.

“Yes, you two do that. I bet it will be quite the show.”

Chloe swallows, alarmed. The sentence seems to have an entirely different meaning for her. Oh, right, she has _morals_. Will Maze develop those, too?

_Ugh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to mitsuki0tennyo, who gave me the idea of the sword-gifting in one of their comments :) next chapter we see Cain again! I bet you all missed him 😅


	21. Hell on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Chloe deliver Cain's fire punishment, and a very special guest comes to the Dragonfort to perform a certain ritual.

There is a side door along one wall of the Dragonfort, and a long flight of stairs beyond it. At the very end, the dungeons, where braziers can be easily carried to once lit. In the yard the door is connected to, Samael awaits, eager to perform his duty. The brazier in Lucifer’s hand, an iron basket dangling from a chain so it can be moved, does the same.

Lucifer walks in front of the dragon’s mouth, then turns to address Chloe.

“Don’t look, Commander,” he tells her in a grave tone. “Keep your eyes to the ground until I've put this in his cell. Don’t ever look into the fire.”

He’s scared of the guilt that might be hiding inside her, she realizes. Of sins she might have committed. To stare into a single, constant flame is different than seeing dragonfire in action, he explained to her. When a dragon fights, the creature's soul aches for a different kind of punishment: physical, palpable, brutal. When a dragon breathes fire to cremate the dead, the flames are a blessing meant to consume what is already gone, to return ashes to ashes.

But when a dragon breathes hellfire to punish a sinner, what gets consumed is whatever evil lies inside, unseen.

Chloe has killed people in her life, it’s true, but only to protect others – she doesn’t think she deserves punishment for that. But is she sure there is no guilt left in her for what Lucifer went through because of her? Best not to find out. She nods.

Once her eyes are firmly set toward the ground, she hears fire coming out of the dragon’s jaws. A very weak burst of flames, from the sound of it: Samael now knows that Lucifer burns in her presence, and Chloe assumes he has to be careful if he doesn’t want to melt the actual brazier into a puddle of liquid iron.

“You did good,” Lucifer praises his dark, scaled half. A flap of wings, a displacement of air, and Samael is gone.

Chloe keeps looking at the ground, then laces her fingers with Lucifer’s when the angel takes her hand. He guides her behind him, so that it will be easier to avoid looking at the flames with his broad frame standing in between.

A Lilim opens the side door for them. The hellish fire in front of Lucifer illuminates the walls as they descend into the bowels of the castle, and its reflected light seems safe to look at, so Chloe uses it not to trip or stumble.

At the end of the stairs, another Lilim, and another door. Beyond that, the dungeons Chloe only glimpsed once, when she delivered Jimmy Barnes, their very first apprehended murderer, to the justice of the Princeguard.

The space they end up in is dark and damp; a long, long room with a corridor in the middle, and cells on either side. They are not encircled by bars, but wooden walls, with only a small square left open to provide food and water, Chloe assumes. This means that as they walk, she can avoid looking at _all_ the fires lit inside, whose light never makes it out of the cells directly. The sounds can’t be covered in the same way, though, and they are ones of sadness and misery, remorse and desperation, just like that one time.

“Okay so far?” Lucifer whispers, clearly nervous. This moment could break what they have carefully crafted for themselves out of uneven pieces – a vase whose surface will never truly be smooth.

“Yeah,” Chloe whispers back. She wants to keep an open mind, she has to. This is something Lucifer apparently takes pride in, something Samael was _made_ for.

They turn one corner, then another, and another. Chloe has been in enough prisons, though briefly to collect rewards, to know how unique this one is: prisoners don’t reach out to her to plead for help, or yell at her, or make vulgar comments about what they would like to do to her (sword jokes are always a favorite, she remembers in disgust).

No, these ones are completely oblivious to the outside world. Like Lucifer explained, this is what would happen in Hell, and although alive, they are basically damned souls.

The angel stops in front of a cell at the end of one corridor, unlit like the others next to it and in front of it on the other side. Cells awaiting new criminals. He lets go of Chloe’s hand and simply touches the part of the wooden barrier that constitutes the door; or at least that’s what it seems like from what she can see, since her eyes are cast downwards.

The door simply opens for him – a power of his she was not aware of – and Lucifer slips inside, brazier in hand and healing wings folded close to his body to fit through.

“Hel-lo there,” Chloe hears from outside the cubicle, that singsong tone he would use with criminals they have been chasing for a while, relieved to have caught them. “Long time no see.”

She assumes Cain is, unlike many humans, aware of what is about to happen. Maybe he is staring down too to avoid the punishment, and is therefore able to speak coherently, at least for now.

“Ah. I was wondering what was taking you so long, Dragon Prince. Trouble in paradise?”

Chloe doesn’t welcome the sound of his voice, at all. It reminds her of all the times she trusted him, of the moment he betrayed her, of the things he told Lucifer in the throne room and the way he hurt him.

_I can’t wait for him to be mine_, he said that day, gleeful as Lucifer choked and weakly clutched the hilt of the sword buried in his stomach; pale, so pale as life almost drained out of him.

“Yes, one could say that, I suppose,” she hears Lucifer reply. “Two extra limbs to take care of and all that.”

She had already “killed” Cain when they sprouted from Lucifer’s back to protect her from dragonfire, so he probably didn’t know about them until now. The warlock chuckles, trying to hide his annoyance at the happy turn of events (well, happy _now_) despite his best efforts.

“I can see that. Congratulations, then: you are once again a perfect little angel. But I wonder if our dear Commander would still feel this way, if she knew what you’re about to do.”

Chloe considers making her presence known, but decides against it. She’d rather be a silent witness, not to give him any satisfaction if things were to go wrong. Inside, Lucifer makes a humming sound, buying time to mask his insecurity.

“She’s tougher than you think,” he says eventually, making her heart swell with pride. “And I bet you regret having underestimated her.”

Cain laughs. “What, because she killed me? Ah, I lost count of all the times a scorned woman did that to me. Makes for great foreplay, too.”

The clinking sound she hears, followed by a sudden grunt, paints an unmistakable picture: Lucifer setting the brazier aside to slam Cain against the wall, furious and red-eyed, no doubt. The intensity of his anger has always been _more_, other, channeling a fury that comes from a forgotten world hidden down below. Chloe has to admit that it thrills her, to hear it rage to defend her honor.

“You watch your mouth, _sorcerer_. Or the fire of Hell will be the least of your worries.”

A thud, and Cain is probably returned back to the ground. Chloe is alert to every noise and movement, just in case things escalate, although she won’t be able to do much with the flames she absolutely can’t look at being there inside the room.

“Now... let’s take care of your punishment, shall we? Come on, look up. Don’t force me to grab your chin and make you, let’s be civilized.”

Paying attention to where the two different sounds of their voices are coming from, Chloe walks closer to the wall of the cell and makes out where Cain is. Slowly, as to be able to look away immediately, she peers through the open square to see his face bathed in red and golden light, the fire placed on the other side of the cubicle where Lucifer is.

“Now that I know it’s time, I also know there is nothing I have to be afraid of,” Cain declares as he keeps staring at the ground – clothes torn and dirty, longer hair and beard, dark circles under his eyes. “All I ever did, I did it to survive. To give my life meaning. If there was still a Heaven, and if I could die, I would go there.”

“You really believe that?”

The sorcerer scoffs. “I don’t regret anything I've done.”

“Mm. Look up then, since you’re so certain.”

Slowly, very slowly, the warlock does. Chloe watches as his eyes and mouth widen, head tilting to the side almost in a trance. Then, hypnotized, Cain tries to speak, but chokes on his own words.

“I… I did all that, didn’t I?”

“You must have. Fire doesn’t lie, just like yours truly.” Lucifer’s voice sounds different, deeper, lower. There is an edge of danger to it, a tone he would never use with her, very similar to the one she heard when he put Dromos in his place that first day in the throne room. He’s a punisher right now, a torturer, a king.

“No.” Cain shakes his head, his gaze clearing. Do some people need… a little push? Is that what this is?

“Tell me what you see. I'm afraid I can’t, myself. Paint a picture for me.”

The effect of the flames seems to intensify at Lucifer’s coaxing. Cain is concentrating on them again, dazed.

“Me and Abel. A rock in my hand. He… he was the favorite, and I couldn’t stand it. All my achievements as I started practicing magic, they meant _nothing_ to my parents. They thought it was nonsense, silly tricks and games. But Abel was a farmer. Abel would provide. Abel was _practical_. If only they had known he had a thing for a sorceress, too, I bet they would have sung a different tune.”

“So you killed him. Envy, really? So pedestrian of you.”

Cain clenches his jaw. “Yes, I did, but he deserved it! That hypocrite never defended me, never!”

But right as he says it, something shifts in his gaze. He looks horrified. Chloe holds her breath, waiting to find out why.

“No. No, no, no. You had someone cast a spell on this fire, didn’t you? Put my books to good use to conjure a fake vision! Very clever, I'll admit, but I won’t-”

“I did no such thing, _Cain_. Don’t insult me like that. The fire of my Samael is divine justice in pure form, I would never mess with it. Why? What are you seeing that you don’t like, eh?”

The façade crumbles under Chloe’s unblinking eyes. “He… he _did_ defend me. He’s talking- he _was_ talking to my parents, asking them to be gentler. I just never knew.”

And he would never have known, if not for this. There is no way to travel back to the past: dragonfire seems to be the only window into at least a glimpse of it.

Chloe expects Lucifer to laugh, to mock, to twist the knife in the bundle of guilt clearly dragging Cain down into the abyss as the seconds pass. Instead, when he speaks, his voice is incredibly sad. He’s not enjoying this, at all, and if it seemed that way before, it was just because he needed to sound commanding and sure of himself. Or maybe it was a shield, a way to distance himself from the horror, but only for so long.

“He loved you, and you betrayed him. He failed at protecting you and died for it.” _Oh, Lucifer, don’t go there_, Chloe thinks, squeezing her eyes shut, but he does. “And this burden is something you'll always have to carry with you. You ended his life, you _chose_ to kill him. Deep down, you know you’re a monster, and that you belong in Hell – the Hell _I_ can provide for you – where you will torture yourself with that truth for eternity. ‘Cause no matter what you tell yourself… you can’t outrun what you’ve done. What you truly are.”

Tears stream down Cain’s cheeks, his body trembling. Lucifer’s chest appears in Chloe’s field of vision through the square.

“And neither can I.”

Chloe steps back to allow Lucifer to emerge from inside the cell and lock the door behind him. He leans his back against it, palms flat on the surface, eyes closed. Then he breathes, in and out, in and out, and slowly turns to look at her, once again the lost, vulnerable angel that hides under the ruler of demons. He’s scared and waiting for a reaction from her, but Chloe needs more time to process.

Silently, she just takes his hand and pulls him away from the door, dragging him behind her along the many corridors they walked to get back to the entrance. Together, they swim through earthly yet infernal depths to reappear at the surface, outside, back into the world and under the light of the sun.

A stone bench in the yard seems like a good place to stop, so Chloe leads Lucifer to sit on it next to her. The angel joins his hands together, playing with the dragonbone ring he never takes off.

“Why did you say that, in the end?” she asks him. “Why would you think that?”

Lucifer looks surprised: he thought she would inquire about everything else first, probably.

“Commander, I _am_ trying, but you can’t expect my guilt to just… disappear. My mother, and Azrael… I will never outrun that, no matter what you or Mazikeen say. If dragonfire worked on me, I know for a fact that I would see their faces.”

_And I would probably see yours_, Chloe doesn’t say. They both have things to work through, it seems. Can they do it together?

She thinks back on what she saw in the dungeons. It’s so hard to dissect how she truly feels about it, but maybe, if she had more information…

“Back in there, I felt like you had to talk him through it. For him to feel… guilty. Why? It's not enough to show the crime itself?”

Lucifer seems glad she changed the subject. He gives her a small smile before answering. “That’s the thing, Commander. Hell, the _real_ one, would only host those who _feel_ guilty, indeed. And I mean, even those who _shouldn’t_. I told you once it’s what nature intended, or God, if you want to believe He created Samael’s kind and mine. But I thought I could… improve it. This dungeon contains the worst of the worst. Murderers, rapists, beaters, torturers themselves. The same people _you_ want to free the world of. But only them.”

Chloe nods slowly. “So what you’re saying is… if nature had its way, innocent people would endure that same punishment?”

“If dragons were still down below? Yes.”

“Oh.” She understands a bit more, now. A lot more. “I see.”

Lucifer hesitates, his ring spinning, spinning, spinning. “And… how do you feel about it?”

Not… great, still. She won’t lie. At the end of the day, Lucifer could just as well refrain from arranging all that, letting people quite simply rot in their cells as it happens in all the other prisons of the world. In a way, it’s a torture that isn’t strictly necessary. Whether they feel guilty or not, criminals will still stay behind bars, but Lucifer clearly feels that this is his duty – his and Samael’s.

This is not like any other city, and he is not like any other man. Chloe knew it when she fell in love with him. Without knowing everything else, she at least knew _this_.

And now, she finds she can’t get herself to love him any less, so she _has_ to try and understand.

“It’s… a lot. I am trying to come to terms with _why_ you want this.”

Lucifer tenses on the bench, looking away. “Don’t you find it unfair that some people refuse or fail to see the hurt they cause to others? If there is a way, don’t you find it just to make them aware of it? That’s all that is, Commander. Tugging at a thread that is already there, but hidden under denial or hard to find under false assumptions, as was the case with our dear Cain. The guilt is either already there, or it isn’t. Dragonfire doesn’t _create_ it, it just _reveals_ it. And I make sure it is shown only to those who deserve it.”

Chloe swallows. She dreads the look she’ll put on his face. “Will you… give me some time? To give you an answer?”

An answer about whether she can operate at the head of such a system, and an answer about whether she can still be with him after witnessing how it works. He knows she means both.

“Of course, Commander,” he says, refusing to look back at her. “As you know, I have all the time in the world.”

~🔥~

The music room at the base of the Prince’s Tower is a world of wonders beyond Trixie’s imagination. Flutes, lyres, lutes, cymbals, harps, even one of those weird bagpipes made of goat skin that make her shudder with uneasiness as if little ants were crawling all over her. The most stupid musical instrument there is, but somehow, she’s sure Lucifer is able to pull that off too.

The walls of the room are padded, covered in a layer of… pillows, sort of, for the sounds not to drift away. A solution he said he learned in a brothel, which had her mother glare at him as if she could spit fire from her mouth like a very tiny dragon. That was a fun moment, though the two still seem… weird around each other, now. Like they’re walking on their tiptoes, trying not to upset the other, always careful not to touch.

Trixie, to be quite honest, is _exhausted_. But this isn’t the time to think about that: this is about Maze.

In the center of the room, as if he’s on trial and they are the jury, stands a stranger. A man, with dark blond hair and darker scruff on his cheeks, face slighty wrinkled. He wears a long black coat, dirty and clearly worn too often, and a simple white shirt underneath, tucked inside equally terrible slacks. Lucifer would never wear something like that, and his opinion of it sits plainly on his face.

“Maester Lopez here tells me your name is John… Constantyne?” he asks, waving a hand at the man. His wings are still out, and the regrown feathers move so prettily every time he does.

“Constant-_ine_.”

“Is it?” Lucifer chuckles. “Must have heard it wrong. And I like my version better anyway.”

John… whatever his family name is smiles, amused. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

“You can call me Lucifer, Morningstar. This here is the regent now, and soon-to-be queen,” Lucifer corrects him, pointing at Mazikeen. The demon has her arms crossed over her chest and is looking at John suspiciously.

“And you’re supposed to be a warlock? Are you sure?”

“_Maze_, be nice,” Trixie whispers heatedly while shooting her a glare, but gets ignored.

“Master of the Dark Arts, to be accurate, yes. You are the Lilim I'll have to cast the spell on, I gather?”

“Well, we’ll see about that. How do I know you’re competent?”

Trixie is pretty sure Maze is looking for an excuse not to go through with it, even though she agreed. She’s scared, but it’s best not to tell her.

Ella jumps in. She wears really long and chaste dresses now, high around her neck and covering her chest fully; clothes that give her an authority she doesn’t really inspire when she speaks, as bubbly and overexcited as always, but Trixie actually likes it more this way.

“Oh, he comes highly recommended! Don’t… ask me by whom, though. I can’t share my contacts or I'll never be able to use them again! The underworld of magic and alchemy doesn’t forgive easily.”

They all roll their eyes, then Lucifer claps his hands together. “Right! Shall we, then?”

He reaches the chest he left on a small table when they all came here, and unlocks it with the simple touch of his hand. From inside, he picks up that creepy horn Trixie first saw under Marcus' – Cain’s – bed, the one they later found out to be called _The Horn of Souls_. She feels very proud of it: that this big change is happening because of _her_ discovery.

Lucifer makes to give the magical object to the sorcerer, but then he pulls back, surprising the man.

“Ah, ah, ah. Wait a second. How do we know you won’t use this for some evil masterplan of yours, mm? I already went through my fair share of bloody nonsense in that regard, I assure you. So tell me, John Constant-_yne_… any nasty little desires in there?”

Trixie has already seen this power of his at work, when he unleashed it on Cain in the throne room. Too bad he never used it on that idiot before, but only when it was too late – would have saved them a whole lot of trouble! Thankfully, he seems to have learned his lesson, and Trixie watches in awe as John’s eyes change, turning vulnerable like a child’s.

“I… I want to be payed, then be on my way so I can leave this bloody city.” Wait, how is she only noticing now that they speak in a similar way? “I _despise_ dragons. Hideous creatures, too high maintenance. And I want you to stop looking at me with that crazy look on your face, Morningstar. Or is it hunger? If I didn’t know any better, I'd say you’re into me.”

Lucifer shakes his head and blinks rapidly, breaking the enchantment. “What? Don’t be preposterous! And I'll have you know I'm taken any…way.”

He hesitates at the end of the word and looks at Trixie’s mother. Chloe gives him a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Oh, for goodness’ sake! What _is_ it with these two? When will her mom ride that beautiful dragon so that Lucifer can later invite Trixie as well? _Why does no one think of her?_

“Great!” Ella intervenes to make the tension dissolve. “I guess it’s time to start!”

They all look at Mazikeen, who squirms under the attention. Lucifer finally hands the magic horn to John Constant_ine_ and goes to stand near the wall, where they all are.

“You assure me that the sound won’t reach anyone else’s ears?” the warlock for hire asks Lucifer as his fingers skim over the weird, unknown letters on the side of the object. “Can’t risk the newly created soul to try and slip into some other empty vessel around here. The ritual has to be performed one demon at a time.”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Lucifer confirms. “Though you’ll have to wait for that. I want Mazikeen to… talk to them, first. No one will have to be forced into this.”

Constantine sighs deeply. “Then I’ll spend my prolonged stay here instead of some filthy inn, angel prince. I want fresh ale, and the same fine quality of meat you enjoy at your table. Oh, and whatever you have to smoke or snort around here.”

“Deal,” Lucifer concedes, clearly amused by his boldness. Trixie knows people smoke things through pipes for fun, but wow, they inhale stuff directly through their noses, too? She’ll have to ask her mother.

Chloe leaves the group to reach Mazikeen’s side. Trixie smiles at the way Maze doesn’t recoil from the woman’s touch around her elbow: it took them a while, but it’s great to see that they’re friends now.

“Maze, are you sure?”

The demon takes a moment to steel herself, then nods gravely.

“I am. I'm ready.” And with that, Chloe falls back into position.

John Constantine walks to the table where they placed Cain’s book, open on the chapter needed. At the end of it, there are the actual spells to use for each of the possible applications of the artifact, but only sorcerers are able to read them. The one currently in the room puts one hand on the page, and holds the horn in the other.

“Mazikeen of the Lilim, it’s time to reveal your secret,” he says. Trixie knows what it is, she’s seen it, so she catches Mazikeen’s gaze to give her strength, nodding.

Maze exhales shakily, then looks around, processing the consequences of her decision. Lucifer has seen her secret, too: only Chloe and Ella might get startled by it. She shouldn’t be this afraid, but Trixie does understand.

The demon finally closes her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Just like it happened in Trixie’s presence, one half of her face ripples and changes, as well as her shoulder and part of the arm on that same side. They turn red, the skin uneven, smooth in some places and rough in others. Where Maze has a dimple on her cheek, the tissue is so thin that you can see through it, glimpsing the inside of her mouth beyond columns of white sinew; and the eye on the same side is blackened, shrivelled, unseeing.

Ella and Chloe inhale sharply, trying to stay as silent as possible. Trixie keeps her encouraging smile in place, but it’s on Lucifer that Mazikeen’s eyes – no, eye – settle for longer.

“Oh, Maze,” the angel breathes, head tilted to the side and eyes shining. Because he knows, he must know, that it’s the way even he would look like if he wasn’t so special; and that Maze looks like this because she fought at his side so many times.

John Constantine waits a moment to let their silent conversation take place. Then he says, almost fondly, “I can guarantee you'll still be able to control the pain with your mind, after.”

Grateful for the reassurance, Maze nods, her two different nostrils flaring.

“Do it,” she demands, suddenly impatient.

Looking at the book, the sorcerer starts a chant that sounds similar to the one Cain used on Trixie to make her forget what she saw under his bed, even if temporarily. In his hand, some of the characters on the horn change shape, while others just their position, moving and twisting to form a different meaning, a different spell. Fire slithers along their lines like a glowing red worm, sending a shiver down Trixie’s spine, but she can’t show fear in front of Maze because she doesn’t want _her_ to be scared.

When the letters settle, Constantine brings the horn to his lips and blows.

From the larger opening of the instrument, something resembling smoke drifts up into the air and toward the demon. But it’s an unusual smoke, of a blinding, sparkly white, almost see-through but not really. With their mouths open, they all watch as it slowly merges with Mazikeen’s body, expanding to fit into her every pore, literally taking the shape of her frame before flowing inside her.

It doesn’t look painful: on the contrary, bliss exudes from Maze’s half-burnt face, a deformed grin spreading across it. Then the entity, the _soul_, disappears, and she opens her eyes to look at each of them in turn.

Trixie’s mother has both of her hands on her mouth. Slowly, she removes them to whisper, “Are you okay? How does it feel?”

And really, how _does_ it feel? Trixie struggles to imagine it. A soul is not something you can feel, you just know you have it.

“I'm… fine. I- I don’t know how to explain it.” Maze’s eyes widen in excitement. “I need to go to her!”

And then she sprints to the door, opens it and leaves to find her Lilith. Lucifer laughs, looking at the space she just vacated.

“That was… something,” he whispers to himself, before turning to Constantine. “You'll be greatly rewarded for your service, as promised. I'll have a room arranged for you and your… belongings.” His nose wrinkles at the state of the warlock's clothes, making Trixie giggle. He's so funny when his snobbish side shows.

“Much obliged, Lucifer Morningstar,” the sorcerer says, bowing slightly. He closes the book and puts the horn back in the chest, letting them know he doesn’t plan on using it for any personal matter but only for other similar rituals. Then he leaves for the door, where a demon guard is ready to escort him to said room.

Ella’s head moves from side to side between Chloe and Lucifer, feeling awkward at the sudden silence. “Trixie, why don’t we go to the workshop, mm? Want to try and create a whole new metal?”

As… exciting as that sounds, no. Trixie wants to figure out what the heck is going on here.

“Thank you, but I'll join you later.”

Ella nods, not really convinced it’s a good idea, and leaves. Trixie places her hands on her hips and looks at her very human mother and her very non-human… something.

“Can one of you tell me what you’re fighting about?”

They both look away like two naughty, guilty children, refusing to answer. Alright then. Trixie looks around for something to use, anything to try and get them to talk to each other. Her eyes land on a big, golden harp in a corner. She smirks.

“Lucifer… how come you never played for us?”

The angel perks up at the question, and at the suggestion it clearly implies. Between the way his neck seems to extend and the way his wings ruffle and puff up, he looks like a bird trying to impress.

“I… I don’t know, really.” He looks at Chloe hesitantly. “Would you like to listen to a song, Commander?”

Said Commander glares at Trixie, seeing right through her plan, but nods.

“Of course, Lucifer.”

He smiles and sits at the bench behind the harp. With his wings visible, he embodies the stereotype of the heavenly angel, though Trixie struggles to imagine him lazily sprawled on a cloud. No, the only way Lucifer can touch those is from the saddle of his dragon, fingers stretched outward to touch the very top of the world.

Those same fingers now touch the strings of the harp, feather-light (_ha_). The tune he starts is sad, Trixie feels, though she can’t say whether such an instrument can be played for anything different. As if hypnotized by it, she and her mother walk closer to the source, and Chloe places her hand on her head, stroking her curls absentmindedly. Trixie got them from the father she never met, her mom would tell her every time she wondered why their hair didn’t match at all.

Theirs has always been a family of two: Trixie didn’t get to spend a lot of time with her grandfather, either, and grandmother Penelope left before she was born. Is the sad music the reason she is thinking about it? Or is it because she wishes they could become a family of three? Of… four? Yes, that sounds way better, the thought of including Samael in her counting, just like she did when she made the drawing Lucifer still keeps close to his bed.

She looks up at her mother, only to find tears in her eyes. Then she looks at Lucifer, and realizes he’s not even watching the strings as he plays them: the two are staring intently at each other, full of emotions they don’t know how to express. If only one of them could take one simple little step…

“Do you-” the angel clears his throat, but doesn’t halt his graceful movements. “Do you play?”

Chloe shifts her weight from foot to foot. Her voice feels just as rough when she replies, “Uhm, no. I wish I could, but I never had the time to learn. There’s this one song I always liked, though.”

“Show me?”

Trixie smiles and slowly escapes her mother’s hold to give her a gentle nudge. Chloe silently joins Lucifer on the bench, just as he stops playing to watch her start her own melody.

“Here goes,” she announces shyly, before her index finger taps on one of the strings, three times. A more complicated set of sounds follows, clumsy and out of tune, but Lucifer just shrugs, smiles and falls in line with the rhythm of a song he doesn’t even know, but clearly doesn’t need to. There is so much power in music, Trixie realizes, and in silence as well.

As quietly as she can, she walks out of the room, followed by what could just as well be heavenly or hellish music – she really can’t say.

Her job, she hopes, is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left, guys! I am getting emotionaaaal! 😭


	22. Where Shall We Go?

The throne room has been restored to its former glory, not a shard of painted glass on the floor. Lucifer knows it is so, but it’s almost impossible to actually _see_ the floor, covered as it is by humans and demons alike. On the dais, in front of him, Maze shakes with nervous energy.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispers in her ear, knowing it will enrage her.

“I _know_,” she snaps, confirming his idea.

In his hands, he holds the crown he had designed for her, made of iron and dragonbone and shaped in a similar fashion as the throne: a circle of dancing flames, the one in the front higher and its point sharper. Mazikeen's dress is bright red, a flame of its own, almost matching the redness of half of her body. In a way, it gives the impression that the “wrong side” is the unburnt one, as if the color started spreading and for some reason, stopped.

He did offer to have a mask made for her, too, to cover her burns with painted porcelain that might resemble the lively color of her flesh; but no, that wouldn’t be right, she said, for such a trick would defy the very meaning of the ritual she subjected herself to. To have a soul is to have a weakness, but if you show it proudly, if you learn to embrace it, it becomes strength.

_Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you._ So wise, his Mazikeen, and so right.

The high collar of the gown takes the shape of spikes jutting outward, while the rest of it is tight, as tight as she likes everything to be. It’s not really a dress, not in the traditional sense: the front is a continuous piece of fabric, taking the shape of stockings, and only the back is a skirt, attached at her waist and flowing behind her. A perfect expression of who she is: fierce, wild and unpredictable – like a flame, indeed.

Standing behind her, Lucifer places the crown on her head, the circle fitting snugly, dark color merging with her equally dark hair left loose for the occasion. When she’s not in battle, she likes to leave it this way, a tangled mess of black waves.

“I present to you Mazikeen of the Lilim, Queen of the Dragon City.”

Sadly that’s all there is to her string of titles, but her new subjects don’t seem to mind: more likely, they’ll be glad for it. The mismatched crowd erupts in howls and cheers, clapping, and Mazikeen releases a breath she probably didn’t know she was holding, relaxing at the sight.

She stands a little prouder, now, jutting her chin forward: showing her burns to everyone as she lifts her hand in a salute and stares over the expanse of the crowd. Equally deformed Lilim cheer for her, emboldened by her show of confidence: all the ones whose sacrifice was also rewarded with a soul, and a dragon to match.

The humans… well, there’s no denying their quiet horror at the sight of so many burns, but they do try their best not to show it, probably out of fear. Lucifer hopes they’ll get used to it, but only time will tell. That’s why he can’t help but notice a different kind of expression on a human face, one of childlike fascination and glee.

The woman in question, dressed in flowing white, has long wavy hair the color of the night, the curls tumbling down past her waist, a full set of apple-red lips and a pair of big, curious dark eyes. She is clapping excitedly, happy as if she was the one being crowned.

Lucifer follows her gaze all the way to Mazikeen’s face. The Lilim is staring back at the mortal, smiling, a silent spark catching between them. _Well, I'll be damned_, he thinks, after all the protests he had to endure from her because he was falling in love with a human. Is this the result of Maze acquiring a soul, too? He can’t really say, but it won’t surprise him to see that woman again in the future, maybe even on Lilith’s back.

He slips out of the throne room quietly, a weight leaving his chest and shoulders – shoulders burdened by wings he can finally hide. He’s free now, free to be whoever and whatever he wants to be. Not entirely free of guilt, perhaps, but when one day he found himself wandering back to the tavern where his friend Delilah used to go to drink, he discovered that tavernkeeper Linda is indeed a really good listener, and so he has been regularly going there for a pint of ale and a chat ever since.

He needed an outsider's perspective, especially after being made aware of Maester Lopez's theory about the nature of angels and the probable reason behind his father’s death. And Linda gave hers, unfazed by it all: thinking about it, maybe she should change her line of business and accept coin to listen to the woes of celestial beings. What a bizarre notion!

Once at the top of the Prince’s Tower – though is it really, now? It’s still his, but should he change the name? –, Lucifer crosses his bedchamber and greets his Samael on the balcony, scratching a specific spot under the socket of his left horn that makes the dragon screech in delight, huge leathery wings spreading.

“Ready?” Lucifer asks, though he’s mostly asking himself. Is he? Are they?

“I swear, I just don’t understand what it is with you people and _leather_,” a voice comes from behind the partition in the corner of the room. Ah, so that’s where she is.

The Commander appears in his field of vision, framed by the arches of the bedchamber. Two braids on either side of her head merge into a bun at the nape of her neck, and the armor she’s wearing is similar to Mazikeen’s, black and tight and scaled. The curved sword he called Nox is strapped diagonally across her back, mirroring the way its twin Lux is secured to his own, but in the opposite direction. They didn’t really plan it, so it’s a nice coincidence to behold.

The pout on her lips doesn’t really go with it all, but it’s so _Chloe_ that Lucifer can’t help but laugh. His fantasies of this moment, he sees now, could never do justice to the realness of it.

“You look bloody amazing, love,” he says, once again knowing the statement will cause rage. What is it with the women in his life?

“Yes, I _know_ that, but it’s not about looks!” she protests, hands in the air. “It’s about safety! Effectiveness! It’s about- ugh, what?”

Did she stop to wonder at the playfulness in his eyes, or the love? He hopes she knows how big that is. He hopes she understands she’s the one his fire burns for – the only one _he_ would burn for. The one who makes him feel human and divine, too: a one-specimen species once again, but one he's proud to represent; an angel with a mortal at the reins of his heart, without any magical connection needed for their souls to be one.

He might have stopped being a prince, but she is his Dragon Queen now, stoking the hellish flames of the pyre he carries in his chest; and the world is hers, all of it – he'll make it so, he'll make her _see_.

“Come here,” he tells her, reaching out with his hand. Chloe sighs, finally deciding to let it go, and steps forward to take it. She is a fierce warrior, the best of them, if you ask him, but she knows when to show mercy and let him win their battles.

Lucifer laces their fingers together and cups her face with his free hand. He kisses her on the lips, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, and behind them Samael grumbles. If he could, the dragon would absolutely be rolling his eyes.

They both laugh at his complaint, turning toward him but still locked in their embrace.

“Still jealous?” Chloe inquires, one hand stroking the side of Samael’s snout without hesitation.

_I'm not jealous_, Samael tells him.

“_Very_ jealous,” Lucifer says out loud. It’s not a lie if he knows the _dragon_ is the one lying, right?

Black smoke drifts up from Samael’s jaws, a ball of fire swirling in his belly.

“That’s not what he told you, is it?” Chloe giggles, the clever, clever minx.

“You got me there, Commander. Will I be punished for it?”

She smirks. “As you know, in this city we only punish those who deserve it,” she says, his beautiful justice-seeker come to turn his world upside down – no, come to make it better with him at her side, delivering justice one flame at a time.

The bounty hunter and the Dragon Prince who now works under her, answers _to_ her: what kind of ballad will it make? Ah, well, he doesn’t really care.

“You’re right, miscreants better watch out. And good luck to them once your offspring gets out of that fighting school.”

_Good luck to us all, actually._ He already fears the day he’ll have to stay true to his promise and take _Beatrice_ for a ride: the Commander’s offspring wanted to pick her own wild dragonling, but her mother was adamantly against it and they had to find a compromise. For now.

In fact, Lucifer has the feeling the girl will end up with something even better, with an egg to cradle and cherish: sooner or later Samael will inevitably slither his way into Lilith’s good graces, now that the she-dragon answers to a soul, as non-angelic as it may be. The lucky bastard – maybe his jealousy will lessen at that point, though Lucifer wouldn’t count on it.

And it’s true, he never heard of any human managing to form a bond with a dragon from before his or her birth: hell, there are even _angels_ who fail at it. But if there’s someone who might prove history wrong, it’s certainly that smart little urchin.

“Oh, absolutely.” Chloe shines with pride for her daughter, as she should. “So, what are you waiting for, Your Majesty?”

He’s not that anymore, but she likes to call him so from time to time; just like he used to address her with a title she still had to earn for herself, knowing she eventually would.

Lucifer doesn’t answer: instead, he places his hands on her hips and spreads his wings, now able to pass through his clothes as they assume their corporeal form. Understanding what he’s about to do, Chloe puts her hands on his shoulders for support and lets him lift her, their feet suddenly leaving the floor.

His wings take them on Samael’s back in one swift flapping motion: finally, no more climbing scales for that. Just before landing, Lucifer gently turns Chloe in his arms so she’s facing the other way, her back against his chest. They end up sitting like this on the double saddle he had made and never got to use before today.

The Commander brings her weight forward, assuming a battle stance as she grips the scales in front of her. She's come a long way since the first time she saw Samael and ran, but something has changed between them, a bond Lucifer suspects was formed while he was unconscious in his bed. She can’t hear Samael’s thoughts, it’s true, but there is a newfound easiness in her motions that makes Lucifer’s heart swell.

Chloe is no angel, but her soul shines so bright and pure that she doesn’t need to be. He literally went through fire for her, but in a way, by overcoming her fears and reservations, she did, too; and from the ashes, they both rose up stronger, a two-headed dragon with claws as kind as kisses, and roars as sweet as song.

Samael, on his part, seems to like the novelty of two riders, spreading his wings wide as he gets ready to take flight. Mindful of the angelic sword between them, Lucifer wraps his arms around Chloe’s waist and leans in, kissing the side of her neck before resting his face in the crook created by her shoulder.

“Where shall we go, Commander?” he asks her, tightening his hold. If she were to ask him to look for the secret gate of Heaven, no matter how impossible the task, he’d say yes. The world is hers – no, it’s _theirs_ – and she is his weakness and armor both: through the act of loving and being loved by her in return, he’s stronger than he's ever been before.

Chloe looks back at him, her beauty like a slap to his face, but one he'll ask for again and again. Turns out he likes _some_ aspects of her presence around him, and for as long as she'll live, he'll gladly welcome the pain.

Her answer, when it comes, seems ridiculously obvious.

“Wherever we desire.”

  
  


_🔥 The End 🔥_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was quite the journey! I hope the ending made it worth it ❤
> 
> I decided to put together all the works that have been inspired by this fic, to thank once again the writers and artists who made them. I feel deeply flattered and I will always cherish them all!
> 
> ~ sketches by ZeeLinn, for [Chapter 5](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/613392968491089920/hey-hey-hey-guys-have-you-seen-the-dragonrider-au) and [Chapters 18/19](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/617571939807068160/sat-on-this-wing-armour-sketch-for-a-while)  
~ related fic by [redledgers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466511?view_adult=true)  
~ drawing by [GlazzRain](https://glazzrain.tumblr.com/post/614650254274461696/lucifer-dragon-au-art-thingy)  
~ fic cover by [venividivictorious](https://venividivictorious.tumblr.com/post/615578949712527360/may-fire-come-down-from-heaven-60886-words-by#notes)  
~ artwork by UstimoJan for [Chapter 7](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/614331978249011200/fire-and-ash-lucifer-and-samael-after-the-battle#notes), [Chapter 13](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/616394862703542272/father-father-father-father-into-your) and [Chapter 22](https://ustimojan.tumblr.com/post/617776542242734080/tear-me-away-from-this-fight-tear-me-away-take-me) (**new addition!** This was made _before_ I posted the ending, and somehow it’s absolutely spot on!)
> 
> About this chapter, Mazikeen’s coronation look was inspired by [this](https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Mazikeen) comic cover, and her quote in italics actually belongs to Tyrion Lannister – one last Easter egg for my fellow GoT watchers/readers!
> 
> Finally, thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos or simply stayed along for the ride. Posting this helped me a lot during lockdown, and if reading it kept some of you company during an equally difficult time, it’s a victory in itself. But if you wish to stay in this universe for a bit longer to see the mighty Commander surprise Lucifer in the infamous red dress, look out for a related smutty oneshot next Monday! Many asked, and I aim to please ;)
> 
> And with this, dragon mama out! On to the next one! _*flies away*_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [a sinful taste](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466511) by [redledgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers)
  * [A Little Harmless Torture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373711) by [violent_ends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends)
  * [How To Train Your Urchin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557557) by [violent_ends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends)


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